


Man of His Dreams

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for[](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Man of His Dreams (1/13)**_  
**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 1 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for[](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub!

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil

Must give us pause.

_\--Hamlet (III, I, 72-75)_

 

**Chapter One**

 

Sacramento was a low demon density city. What with the politicians, lobbyists, and bureaucrats, vampires and ghouls were pretty redundant, actually, and few stuck around very long. It didn’t take many to cause trouble, though, so somebody had to keep the monster population in check.

There were six cemeteries in his section of Sacramento. He didn’t know if that was intentional or a fluke, but in any case it worked out pretty well. He could visit one per night and then, like the good Lord Himself, rest on the seventh. Oddly, that was not his favorite night of the week. He needed the furlough to recuperate from the various bruises and scrapes he’d accumulated the rest of the week, and to catch up a little on his sleep, but he didn’t particularly enjoy it. Because a night not spent patrolling meant a night at home or, rarely, in a bar, mostly alone. Trying not to think.

And wasn’t that a hoot—Xander Harris, trying not to think?

This was his day off. Probably a good thing, because he was pretty sure he’d broken a toe the night before at Quiet Haven. He’d kicked at a vamp and connected with a headstone instead. The vamp was now dust, but Mildred Reese’s hunk of granite still stood. And Xander had his swollen foot propped up on the coffee table in between a pizza box and a flotilla of empty beer bottles. _NCIS_ was on, but he wasn’t watching it. He was, in fact, lolling his head back on the couch cushion and watching a small brown spider stalk a fly on his ceiling. He was rooting for the spider.

He ignored his phone when it began to play the theme from _The Twilight Zone_. Kai had thought it was funny to program that ringtone into Xander’s phone. Kai also thought Benny Hill and Gallagher were funny. The phone stopped, but a few seconds later started up again. With a sigh, Xander fished the thing out from between the couch cushions and glared at it. When that didn’t scare it, he flipped it open.

“No,” he said.

“But, Xan—“

“No. I don’t want cheering up, I’m not in the mood to go anywhere, my foot hurts, and I’m at least three Full Sails past drivability.”

“Come on, Mr. Grouchy Pants. I don’t have to teach tomorrow and Jaimee can stay home tonight with the kids. We could catch a movie, maybe? I think there’s something playing with spaceships and—“

“Willow, no!”

There was a long pause, and then she said, “Okay.”

Great. Now he’d hurt her feelings. “Look, Will, I appreciate the effort, I really do. I just…I’m not up to it, all right?”

Her voice was subdued. “It’s been over six months, Xander.”

He refrained from reminding her that when she’d lost someone she cared for, she’d done a hell of a lot worse than sulking at home. And okay, maybe Kai hadn’t been the love of his life, but Xander was really starting to fall for him, and then—

“Will, I think I’m just gonna hit the sack. I’ll talk to you later.”

She sighed. “All right. I love you, you know.”

“I do know. And it helps, it really does.”

When he hung up, he found that he’d told her the truth. He really did just want to sleep. For, say, the next ten years. He clicked off the tv and rose wearily to his feet. Limping slowly, he made his way to the bathroom, where he nearly tripped over a pile of damp towels. Great. Falling and bashing his head open on the toilet. Wouldn’t _that_ be a heroic way to go? But he managed to take a leak and wash his face and brush his teeth without mishap, and then he dragged himself into the bedroom. His clothing he left on top of the untidy pile already threatening to colonize an entire corner of the room, and then he crawled into his unmade bed. The sheets needed laundering.

He reached over awkwardly to shut off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into blackness. Not that there was much to see even when it was light. Just furniture basics, and he probably wouldn’t have had even those if Willow and Jaimee hadn’t hauled him with them to Ikea a month after he arrived, when he was still sleeping on an air mattress on the floor, and they kept clucking about the irony of it. So now there was a real bed and dresser and nightstands and lamps, and the living room had a couch and tv, and the kitchen had a table and chairs he rarely used. But there was nothing personal here, no photos or knickknacks or bits and pieces to brighten the place up. After everything he owned was destroyed for the second time, he didn’t have the heart to collect more.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come, he thought for the zillionth time. Maybe he should have just stayed in Cleveland and tried to rebuild. Literally, actually, because technically he still owned the land on which his house had stood, and if he had the charred remains removed, he might even be able to work with the old foundation. But everything in Cleveland reminded him of Kai, and in the end taking up Willow on her suggestion to move back to California had seemed like a good idea. Maybe he should try someplace else altogether. Giles said he could join him in England, or he could always help Buffy out in New Jersey, but…no. It didn’t really matter where he was. He’d still be alone.

 

It looked pretty much like his bedroom had, when he’d first moved in. Four bare, white walls, a white ceiling with a plain light fixture in the middle, newish beige carpeting on the floor. This room had no doors, though, and no windows. And it had a dirty, naked man crouched tightly in one corner, facing the walls and keening softly to himself.

Xander shook his head, trying to wake up. He really didn’t need another nightmare. He’d had plenty already, mainly of the rushing-through-the-burning-house-trying-to-save-your-boyfriend type, and what made those especially bad was waking up and realizing that they were true.

When the head shaking didn’t work, Xander tried arm pinching and foot stomping, but he remained stubbornly in the dream room. “Fine,” he said out loud, because you could talk to yourself all you wanted in a dream without being nuts. “Let’s see what Mr. Subconscious has in store for me tonight. Who will it be behind door number one? The dead lover? Me? Poor old Kenny Pappas, who I accidentally knocked out while playing dodgeball in fifth grade?”

He strode confidently across the small space, noting as he did that he was naked, too. He bent down and grabbed the man’s shoulder to turn him around. And then he gasped with surprise, because it turned out to be nobody he’d have expected to show up in his dreams, not in a million years. “Spike?” he exclaimed. “What the hell are you doing in my psyche?”

Spike’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open, and then he whimpered and twisted out of Xander’s grip and tried to imbed himself face first into the drywall again.

Xander just stood there with his hands on his hips. “Okay, what kind of twisted shit is this? You are _not_ one of my semi-buried horrors. I’ve barely even thought about you in ten years. You used to be evil, tried to kill me a couple times, you saw the light and got a soul and saved the world and burned to ashes. End of story.”

Despite his perfectly sound argument, Spike failed to disappear or be replaced by someone even freakier, like maybe Principal Snyder. Principal Snyder naked. Ugh. Xander shuddered.

After a few minutes of nothingness, and when more efforts to wake himself up proved unsuccessful, Xander sighed. “All right, then. What latent fears and inadequacies are we dealing with tonight?”

But Spike only whimpered again, and even though this was Spike, and it wasn’t even a real Spike, but some imaginary manifestation of the vampire, the sound twisted Xander’s heart. He dropped to one knee and placed a hand on Spike’s cold, bony shoulder. “Hey, what’s the matter?” he said quietly.

There was no answer.

“Spike?” Xander said.

“Burns,” Spike whispered in a tiny voice.

Oh. So that was it. Spike burned beneath Sunnydale, Kai burned above Cleveland. Apparently his brain had made that helpful connection at some point. Okay, what had the shrink said, the one time he’d let Willow drag him there? Oh, yeah. Solve your problems in your nightmares and they’ll stop haunting you.

“I’m sorry,” Xander said as compassionately as he could. “I’ll put out the fire, okay?”

Spike tensed under his hand, then shook his head a little. “No,” he rasped. “You’re not real.”

“I will.” Xander looked around the room. No buckets of water or thick blankets materialized to help. “I’ll find a way, I promise. I’ll help.”

Slowly, Spike turned his head again until he was staring up at Xander with red eyes. Tears tracked down through the soot on his cheeks. “You’ll help me?” His voice was no louder than before.

Xander squeezed his shoulder gently. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

 

Xander was out of sorts at work the next day, and Michelle kept sending him worried looks. “Are you sure you’re okay, Xander?” she finally asked. “I can handle things myself today if you want.”

“No, I’m okay, thanks. Just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

She grinned at him and picked up a belt sander. “Wild night, huh?” Michelle was 40ish, with three kids and a sweet, chubby husband who drove a truck for UPS. She lived under the illusion that her employee lived a wanton lifestyle, complete with techno music and one night stands. Xander never tried to dissuade her because it seemed to make her happy, and besides, it made it easier to explain his perpetual small wounds and the dark circles under his eye.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, turning the table leg this way and that, checking for flaws in the finish. “Sort of ran into an old, uh, friend.”

“Yeah? Is he cute?”

“Um, yeah.” Actually, in real unlife he’d been pretty much sex incarnate, although Xander had admitted that to himself only in the deepest recesses of his mind at the time.

“What’s he look like?”

“Um, bleach blond. Blue eyes. Really pale skin. Cheekbones to die for. He’s a couple inches shorter than me, tight muscles. Oh, and an English accent.”

Michelle’s eyes had gone slightly glassy. “English accent? Really?” She sighed wistfully. Her husband Ed was born and raised on a dairy farm outside Stockton. “Look, why don’t you head home and take a nap? Nothing here’s all that big of an emergency anyway.”

“No, thanks.” He grinned. “I need the cash.” That was almost true. Giles had offered many times to pay him on behalf of the Watcher’s Council, but Xander wasn’t sure how to put any value on the work he did. And besides, a real, normal-guy job kept him grounded, distracted him, allowed him to pretend for a while he was just an ordinary one-eyed carpenter. He liked working with his hands anyway, enjoyed producing beautiful, useful objects from blank hunks of wood.

So he stayed until he spaced out over the table saw and nearly lost a finger or two. By then it was 4:30 anyway, so he waved at Michelle, who was on the phone, and headed out to his battered pickup.

It wasn’t dark yet, but tonight was Restview’s turn, and that was on the way home. So he stopped at El Pollo Loco and had some dinner, and then parked across from the cemetery, waiting for the sun to set.

_Do-do do-do, do-do do-do, do-do_—

He glanced at the number. “Hi, Wills.”

“Hi, Xan.”

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night. I was just really tired.”

“’S all right. How’s your foot?”

He glanced down at the appendage in question. The swelling had gone down enough for him to put on his boots this morning. “Better, thanks.”

“Good. Jaimee and I were wondering—“

There was a horrendous crash in the background that made him wince.

“Emily Joyce Rosenberg, I told you to stay away from there!” She’d put her hand over the receiver but her shout was still very loud.

And he could still hear the indignant, tearful response. “It wasn’t my fault, Mom! Anna took my book and I was trying to get it back, and—“

“Enough!” Willow did Angry Mom Voice really well. “Clean it up, both of you, and I’ll deal with you in a minute.” Her tone softened as she spoke to Xander again. “Sorry.”

“Sounds like somebody’s in trouble.”

“I’m never going to have a complete phone conversation again, am I?”

“Hey, don’t ask me. You’re the one who went and bred.”

She laughed. It was an old joke between them. “I think I’m needed elsewhere right now. Promise me you’ll come over Saturday afternoon, please? Jaimee said she’d take the girls to Funworks and you and I can have an uninterrupted talk for a change.”

He tried to sound the remotest bit enthusiastic about that. “’Kay, Wills. I promise. Saturday afternoon it is.”

He sat for a while longer, humming along with the radio. He wasn’t sure why the previous night’s dream had unsettled him so badly. He’d had worse. Much, much worse. But somehow, seeing Spike scared and crying, relying on Xander to save him…that made his skin prickle and his stomach tie in knots. For the first time, he felt a little guilty for _not_ thinking about Spike all these years. After all, he had his one remaining eye to thank Spike for, not to mention the continuing existence of the world, sans hordes of Neanderthal vampires. And what had Spike received in return for his sacrifice? A one-way ticket to hell? Xander wasn’t much on theology and religion wasn’t his thing, but, thanks to Buffy’s and Angel’s adventures, he knew that heaven and hell were real enough.

A stealthy movement in the cemetery caught his eye and derailed these thoughts. He double-checked to make sure his stakes were in place—because forgetting your stakes was an error you only made once—climbed out of the truck, and quietly shut the door. He crossed the street and walked through the simple stone archway, then headed for a big oak tree about thirty yards away. His feet crunched on the gravel walk, and a pair of frogs were chirping madly away somewhere nearby.

The good thing about being himself was that he didn’t have to actually search very hard for demons. Sooner or later, they’d come right to him. In his younger days he hadn’t really considered this an advantage, but now he had years of fighting under his belt and was perfectly capable of taking on a fledge or two, and he was glad he could minimize his skulking in the dark time. So now he just walked toward the likeliest spot and, sure enough, a vampire jumped out from behind a tall tombstone, growling and spraying spit from its fangs.

“Hi,” Xander said, and the creature froze. It wasn’t expecting such a cavalier reaction. But Xander wasn’t especially in the mood for banter tonight, so he lifted his arms and said, “Come and get me. Dinner’s served.”

The vampire snarled and leaped toward him. As it did, Xander pulled a piece of sharpened wood from beneath his jacket—a sturdy chunk of maple, and that was a nice side benefit of his job—and had the point in place by the time the vampire landed on him. The vampire fell on the stake, the stake slid neatly into its chest, and Xander was left coughing slightly in a small cloud of dust. All in a good night’s work, easy peasy, except he failed to hear the _other_ vampire, the one that rushed up from behind and grabbed him around the throat with a tattooed arm.

Suddenly, Xander couldn’t breathe any more. That was a bad thing. Would have had him panicking, not so many years before. But he’d been in this position more than once and knew just what to do—he went completely limp. The vamp staggered slightly as it suddenly supported all of Xander’s weight. When Xander still didn’t move, it loosened its grip, no doubt intending to reposition its prey for a nice bite to the neck. But as soon as the pressure around his windpipe eased, Xander squirmed around, putting himself closer to the surprised vampire, and thrust the stake deeply into its heart. It roared and disintegrated.

Xander collapsed, breathing with a little difficulty, and looked around. No more demons that he could see. A successful evening, then. He rose to his knees and then, groaning a little, to his feet, and headed back to his truck.

His apartment was as empty as always, and he’d forgotten to buy more beer. So he watched _CSI_ for a while, and even did a load of laundry so he wouldn’t have to go to work naked the next day. Michelle might not have minded, but it wasn’t very safe. When he got tired of Conan O’Brien, he finally switched off the set and went to bed.

 

He was back in the dream room, and there was Spike in the corner again. Great. Apparently he hadn’t sufficiently worked through this particular conflict yet. Spike was facing the wall again. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself and he was rocking forward and back in a way that suggested he’d been making that movement for a very long time and had no intention of stopping any time soon. It was even more disturbing than the dirt and injuries that marred his overly-thin body.

Xander skipped the preliminaries this time. He strode across the room, sank to one knee, and placed a palm on Spike’s back. “What can I do to help?” he asked.

Spike turned and glanced at him, then looked away. “Not real. Not real. Not real,” he chanted.

“Hey, this is my dream, buddy. Where do you get off on calling me make-believe?” He tried to keep his voice soft and soothing, and was rewarded when Spike turned his head again.

“Dream?” he rasped.

“Yeah. As in, I’m really in my comfy bed and we’re both in my head right now, and I didn’t expect you to make a repeat appearance.”

Spike squinted at him in confusion. He’d stopped rocking, though, and Xander figured that was a good thing. Then the vampire cautiously lifted a skinny arm and touched his fingertips gently to Xander’s shoulder. “’M not a dream,” he said. “You are.”

Xander heaved a loud sigh. He was in no mood to wax philosophical with figments of his imagination. “Okay, fine, I’m the fake. How can I help you?”

Spike’s fingers were still resting on his skin. They were cold and they felt very solid. “No help for me,” Spike said. “Lost. Lost.”

“Where are you?” Which was a stupid question, really, but then this whole dream was stupid.

Spike blinked at him. “Lost. Damned. Burning.”

“You’re in hell?”

Spike nodded slightly.

“That’s not fair. You saved the world.”

“Still a monster. So many dead. So many.” He started rocking again, and Xander gripped his shoulder to steady him.

“Yeah. I guess there is that. But isn’t there, I don’t know, some kind of escape clause? Like, parole? On account of sacrificing yourself and all.”

Spike shook his head. “No. Lost. Lost. No help.”

Xander’s subconscious was more twisted than he’d thought. He rubbed his free hand against his temple. Who knew you could get migraines in your sleep? As Spike started to burrow into the wall again, though, an idea occurred to Xander.

“Hey. You’re here now, with me, right?”

“Not real.”

“Okay, but even if I’m a hallucination, you’re here. You’re not burning. That must mean something, right?”

He thought maybe he saw a tiny sparkle of something in Spike’s anguished eyes. Hope, maybe? “You’ll…you’ll go away again.”

Was that it? Was this some sort of manifestation of Xander’s abandonment issues, of which he had many and varied? Okay, he could handle that.

“I might have to leave, Spike. I can’t control my dreams. But if you need me, I’ll come back.”

Spike gazed at him for a moment and then down at the floor. “Won’t,” he murmured. Xander wondered if the real Spike had had abandonment issues, too. Maybe.

He squeezed Spike’s shoulder again. “I will,” he promised.

[Chapter Two](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/90765.html)


	2. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Man of His Dreams (2/13)** _

**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 2 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Two**

 

On Thursday, Xander begged Michelle for the most complicated job she had, and he spent the day measuring and re-measuring and practicing those geometry skills he’d thought he was never going to need in the real world. She threw him a concerned look now and then, but mostly let him be, and he was pleasantly surprised when she came over to inform him it was after five.

Dinner tonight was from In-n-Out, and then he went to Saint John. He walked around for a couple hours, whistling and practically daring demons to show their bumpy faces, but none did. When the scariest thing he came across was a possum that gave him the evil eye, he decided it was time to head home. This time he remembered to stop for beer.

He popped open his beer and started channel surfing. _Vampire Diaries_ was on. He snorted. So not going to watch that one. He settled on _Bones_ instead, and then _The Office_. Only when he caught himself yawning through _Project Runway_ did he decide to turn in.

He couldn’t fall asleep at first. He kept thinking about Spike—the real, unlive, occasionally homicidal version. His feelings toward the vampire were a mixed bag, to be sure. There were the kidnappings and attempted murders. There was the almost-rape, which brought back decidedly unhappy memories of Xander’s own hyena-ish days. There was the time Spike screwed Anya, but, with the perspective of a decade, Xander realized he’d been wrong in attacking Spike over that one. After you dump someone at the altar you really don’t have much say in who they sleep with.

And then there were the times Spike had lived with him, when Xander had tried valiantly and nearly successfully to suppress his attraction to the vampire. There were a few occasions when he was pretty sure Spike knew exactly what was going on in Xander’s libido, too, but Spike hadn’t said anything. He’d just cocked an eyebrow and grinned that wicked, sexy grin, and then picked a fight about what to watch on tv.

And there had been Spike, bleeding and crying in genuine grief when Buffy died, then helping to care for Dawn. Spike mourning Joyce so quietly that Xander hadn’t known about it until years later, when Buffy mentioned it in passing. And, of course, Spike wearing that ugly necklace and burning, his ashes buried and nearly forgotten beneath the crater that used to be their home.

That was his last waking thought, so it came as little surprise when he found himself back in the room, and there was Spike. The vampire was still in his corner, still curled into an impossibly tiny ball over his knees, but this time he faced forward, and he looked up at Xander. “You!” he said.

“I told you I’d come back.”

Xander sat down cross-legged in front of Spike. He supposed if Spike were real, Xander would have been horribly self-conscious about his nudity. Spike wouldn’t have been self-conscious at all—he used to parade around the basement and, later, the apartment in the buff all the time. As soon as he was seated, Spike reached out and brushed Xander’s cheekbone with his thumb. “Still one eye,” he said.

“Yeah. I’m not so much with the regeneration thing, not even when I’m asleep, I guess.”

“You’re older.”

“And even a little wiser.”

Spike let his hand drop. “Why are you here?”

Xander didn’t want to get into another argument about who was real. “I guess I’m supposed to help you, Spike.”

“How?”

Spike looked so lost as he said that, that Xander had to swallow a lump in his throat. “I dunno. Doesn’t look like there’s any way out of here.”

“No way out,” Spike agreed sadly.

They sat there for a while, silently regarding each other. Spike hunched farther in on himself and Xander was pretty sure he was going to start rocking again. So then he did something he never would have dared with the real Spike: he lurched to his own knees, wrapped his arms tightly around the wiry body, and nuzzled lightly at Spike’s hair. Hey, he could cuddle the manifestations of his unconscious if he wanted to.

Spike was stiff and unyielding in his embrace. He smelled of smoke and charred flesh, which made sense, although Xander couldn’t remember ever noticing odors much in his dreams before. His hair was curly and ungelled, and it tickled Xander’s nose. He was going to give up on the hug, which didn’t seem to be having the cathartic effect he’d hoped, when Spike made a strange, animal noise and unwound himself and threw his arms so tightly around Xander that Xander could barely breathe. Xander felt the cold liquid of Spike’s tears on his neck.

“Don’t let go,” Spike whispered. “Oh god, please don’t let go.”

 

Xander was almost disappointed to wake up alone, with empty arms. Of course, that’s how he’d awakened every day for the past six months, but it still ached a little.

Work went quickly that day, as he and Michelle hurried to get a few pieces done before the weekend. He stopped for sushi, which he ate in his truck as usual. He was going to have to clean out the wrappers someday soon, he mused. Then he drove to the cemetery. It was a slow night at Presbyterian—just a single vamp in a blue floral dress—and he didn’t stay long. It was still early when he returned home. Too early to just sit around on a Friday, he decided. He changed out of his clothes, which were covered in dust of both saw and vampire varieties, and took a quick shower. Then he slipped on a pair of worn, tight jeans, a plain white button-down, and his black leather jacket.

It was a busy evening at Bluebottle. Xander bought a beer and then found a spot to lean against the wall, watching the couples dance. He had just drained the bottle when a man approached. He was a little older than Xander, and an inch or two taller, with short, sandy hair and deep laugh lines alongside his green eyes. “How ‘bout it?” he asked, gesturing toward the dance floor.

His name was Gage and he was funny, and he and Xander danced through four songs, then found a vacant table, and Gage brought them some beers. They chatted a while—Gage lived in Roseville and was a CPA—and danced and drank some more. Eventually they leaned together in a dark corner, making out and groping at each other a little. It was nice, Xander thought. It had been a while. When Xander reached that magic point where he had to decide between drinking more and calling a cab, or giving it up for the night, he chickened out. He and Gage exchanged phone numbers, slightly ruefully on Gage’s part, he thought, and Xander headed home.

Of course, home meant no worries about DUI, and Xander guzzled anything alcoholic he could find, until he was slumped in a stupor on the couch, carefully not thinking about any resemblance between himself and his father. Tony died not long after Sunnydale imploded. Cirrhosis. Jessica followed soon after when her bad habits caught up with her, too, in her case with lung cancer. He supposed that made him an orphan. He laughed, and when the sound echoed off his bare walls, he laughed again.

If he dreamed at all that night, he didn’t remember it.

 

“Want some tea?”

He managed not to make a face. “Do you have anything stronger?”

She gave him a stern look. “Alexander Lavelle Harris, it is two in the afternoon and I am not going—“

“Just kidding, Wills. Water. Water would be great, please.”

She scowled at him, skipped adeptly over a pile of Legos, and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. She handed his to him and then she sat across from him at the table. He looked around the sunny, cheery room. The fridge was covered in bright drawings and paintings that the girls had made, the counter contained the remains of a macaroni and cheese lunch, and a half dozen pots of herbs sprawled in the window.

Willow put her warm hand on his and he looked at her. “Xander. How are you?”

“I’m okay, Will.”

“What did you do last night?”

“Patrolled. Dusted. And then I went to Bluebottle and sucked face with a cute guy named Gage, okay?”

She perked up. “Really? What’s he like? What does he do? When are you gonna see him again?”

“Calm down. It was just a little meaningless smooching, okay? I’m not ready to hop back in the sack again.”

“But you’re going out at least, Xan. That’s great! Maybe next time you’ll—“

“What? Move up to a little dry humping?”

She slapped his hand lightly. “I’m worried about you, dummy. We all are.”

Xander groaned. Willow and Buffy and Dawn and Giles must have been burning up the internets trying to solve the Xander Problem. “Look, Will. You need to give me some time, okay? You all do. I mean, it’s not just Kai.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “It’s all these fucking years. Jesse and Anya and all the slayers and Spike—“ Oops.

Willow frowned. “Spike?”

“Yeah. You remember him. Not-so-tall, light, and formerly undead?”

She sat back and folded her arms. “I didn’t realize his loss had hit you so hard.”

“Neither did I, actually. But, I mean, we practically grew up with the guy. He was my roommate. Twice!”

Willow tilted her head at him like he was an interesting math problem. “What’s going on?” she asked.

He closed his eye, despairing of the possibility of ever keeping anything a secret from his oldest friend. “I’ve been dreaming about him,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I’ve been dreaming of him. Spike. Three nights in a row. Not last night, though.”

“Why?”

He took a long pull from his water bottle, wished it was something stronger. “How the hell should I know? You’re the one with the fancy college education, remember?”

She made the Angry Mom face at him and it worked even though he was not her kid. “What do you want to know, Willow?”

In the end, he told her all the details of the dreams, even the embarrassing parts like the nudity and the hug. When he was done, she cradled her chin in one palm and chewed at her lip. “Have you ever had dreams like these before? I mean…sequential?”

“No. Not really. I mean, sometimes I have different versions of the same dream, like the one where Kai—Well, different versions. But not like this.”

“Will you let me know if you have more?”

“Sure, Dr. Rosenberg.”

She looked like she was going to say something more, but just then the front door slammed open, and the house was suddenly filled with excited female chatter. Two small, sticky figures who smelled like sugar and French fries launched themselves at him, and that was the end of serious discussions for the day.

 

He was back in the room. So was Spike, huddled in his usual corner. He looked warily at Xander, but Xander thought he saw a hint of the vampire’s old cockiness, too, and for some reason that made him happy. “You came back, then,” Spike said.

“I guess I did.” Xander sat opposite Spike again.

“Still a white hat.”

Xander shrugged. “Beige, maybe. Tan. But, yeah.”

“Why you? Would think I’d hallucinate the Slayer, or even the pouf.”

“Hey, I didn’t invite you to my dreams, either.”

Spike tilted his head a little. “Still insisting you’re real?”

“As real as I’ve ever been.”

Spike shook his head, then looked down at his knees, which were cracked and blackened. He looked suddenly very tired, Xander thought.

“When I’m not here, is this room the same?” Xander asked. Because he figured his brain could come up with a scarier hell than this.

“Dunno. ‘M only here when you are.”

“Then where do you go?”

In response, Spike whimpered and closed his eyes, and Xander was sorry he’d asked. So sorry, in fact, that he scooted forward a little and gently stroked Spike’s bicep. Spike opened his eyes, gazed at him for a moment, and then moved quickly, pressing his torso to Xander’s, burying his face against Xander’s neck, twisting his arms around Xander’s body. “Stay a while,” he whispered. “Please. Please don’t go.”

Xander stroked his back and felt Spike melt even more closely against him. “Okay. I’ll stay as long as I can.”

And he did manage to stay for quite some time, he thought, although judging time in dreams was always tricky. But the truth was he was as comforted as Spike seemed to be. Of course, since Spike was really a figment of his own troubled mind. Eventually, though, he felt an odd sort of pulling sensation, like someone invisible was tugging at him. “Spike,” he murmured. “I think I have to wake up now.”

“No! Please. Not yet. Only a little longer.” Spike clutched him more tightly.

“Sorry, Spike. I don’t think I can control it.”

Spike sobbed against him and Xander’s heart clenched. “Told her I wanted to see the end,” Spike cried into his skin. “Wish it had been. I can’t…can’t manage this.”

The tug became more insistent, and the room began to slip away from him. Spike wailed desolately. “I’ll come back!” Xander yelled.

 

Sunday afternoon and he found himself on the phone to Buffy. They hadn’t talked in a while. She was busy, of course, what with the new Hellmouth developing in Newark, and the boyfriend who reminded everybody but Buffy of Riley Finn, and the new cadre of undisciplined baby slayers she’d been training. But she sounded happy to hear from him.

They chatted for a while about Willow and her family, and about Dawn, who was dating some guy that Buffy was convinced wasn’t good enough for her, and about Giles. Finally, in a voice soft with concern, she said, “And how’s things with _you_?”

“I’m…I’m okay.”

“Okay?”

“Well, okayer, anyway.”

“You’re always welcome in New Jersey, you know.”

“Thanks, Buff, but I think I’ll stick with the Golden State for now.”

“Sure, Xan.”

Then they talked a little about his job, and about his completely boring patrols, and about whether she might be persuaded to come out for a visit when she’d averted the current apocalypse. And then, completely out of the blue, Xander heard himself ask, “How did Spike die?”

“Uh, whoa, non sequitur guy. What?”

“Spike. Back there in Sunnydale. He burned, right?”

Her tone was cautious. “Yeah.”

“Did it…. Did he suffer a lot?”

“Um…I don’t think so. I mean, I think it hurt, but he was kind of smiling, like he did when he got in a really good fight, you know? I tried to get him to come with me. Did I ever tell you that? But he wouldn’t go. He said he wanted to see how it ended.”

Xander found himself speechless.

“Xan? You still there?”

Hoarsely, he said, “Can you repeat that, please? What he said?”

“He said, ‘I want to see how it ends.’ What’s the deal, Xander?”

He swallowed, tried to calm his whirring head. “I, uh, I’ll call you back later, ‘kay? I need to talk to Willow.”

It was Jaimee who answered the phone, actually, but she must have heard something in his greeting, because she handed the phone over to her partner really fast. “Xander? Is something wrong? What is it?”

“I had another dream, Will. With Spike.”

“Was, was it a bad one?”

“No, that’s not—Willow, did Buffy ever tell you exactly what happened in Sunnydale? Those last minutes, I mean, when it was just her and Spike and the hordes?”

“No. She doesn’t like to talk about it. You know that. Why?”

“I think…I think you better come over, Will.”

[Chapter Three](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/90950.html)


	3. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Man of His Dreams (3/13)**_  
**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 3 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Three**

It only took about twenty minutes for Willow to arrive, but he spent the whole time pacing restlessly, trying without success to make sense of what was going on. It was probably a good thing that all the alcohol was gone, because that wouldn’t have helped any, but he wasn’t sure if he could have resisted its lure.

When Willow knocked he yanked the door open and practically dragged her inside. Not surprisingly, she looked alarmed. He led her to the couch and stood in front of her and took a deep breath.

“So I had another Spike dream last night, right? He was—It’s awful. But he said something, he said he’d told her he wanted to see the end. I didn’t know what he was talking about. Sometimes he doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, kind of like his time in the school basement. But then today I was talking to Buffy, and she told me that when he was dying that’s exactly what he said! ‘I want to see how it ends.’”

He inhaled again and looked at her expectantly. He could almost see the wheels turning. After a few moments, she said, “Xan? Are you sure Buff never told you that before?”

“Positive! Like you said, she doesn’t like to talk about it, and it’s not exactly my most cherished memory either. We’ve been managing to dance completely around the topic for a decade.”

“So you think…you think that’s really _him_?”

He walked around the coffee table and plopped onto the couch beside her. He took both her hands in his. “I don’t know, Will. But maybe. I mean, stranger things have happened. Way stranger. Gods, what if it is? What if he’s real?”

She looked at him with wide and solemn eyes. “I’m going to do some research on this, okay?”

He nodded. Research was good. Willow could fix anything with research.

He was enormously relieved to find himself back in the dream room. By the looks of things, Spike was glad, too. He uncurled himself from his usual ball and his muscles loosed a little, and he breathed a long, noisy sigh. “You came back again,” he murmured.

Xander wasted no time in walking across the room and plopping himself down in front of Spike. He raised a hand and poked Spike above the collar bone. Spike squinted at him in puzzlement. “I think you’re real,” Xander said.

“Been telling you that all along.”

“Yeah, I know. But I thought I was dreaming you. Now I’m not so sure. And Spike, it’s really me.”

Spike dropped his head. “Don’t. Can’t…can’t abide false hope.” Then he looked up sharply and glared. “Is this a new form of torture, then? The burn…the burning’s become tiresome already?” He stumbled over the word “burning,” and Xander suspected the pain must be indescribable.

“Spike, if someone wanted to torture you, don’t you think they could do better than me?”

Spike seemed to mull this over a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Me either. I mean how? Why? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Spike looked like he might try to melt into the wall again, so Xander scooted over and put his arm around Spike. With a quiet sigh, Spike slumped against him, leaning his head against Xander’s shoulder. He was far too thin, Xander thought. “Look, if this is real…. Willow’s working on it. She’ll find a way to get you out.”

“Don’t,” Spike repeated. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. “No false promises, please. Just…allow me my crumbs of comfort.”

So for a long time Xander did just that, holding Spike tight and, when Spike still trembled a little, slowly stroking his upper arm. It felt strange, cuddling a vampire—cuddling Spike!—but not in a bad way. Spike’s skin was very soft and dry, almost suede-like under his fingers. When the pulling sensation began again, though, Xander tapped Spike’s knee with his other hand.

“Tell me something I couldn’t possibly know, okay? Something Buffy wouldn’t know either. Something I can verify. So we know for sure.” He would have done the same for Spike, but of course the vampire had no way to verify anything and would probably assume anything Xander told him was just a product of Spike’s own mind.

Spike sighed for the third time. “Fine. Is…is the pouf still around?”

“The pouf? Oh, you mean Angel.”

Spike nodded against him.

“Um, yeah, I think so. Least, last I heard, Deadboy was still in LA. We don’t exactly exchange Christmas cards.”

“All right, then. He and I—well, was Angelus, then—we shagged. Once. In 1894. The girls were occupied with the bloody Immortal and we were rat arsed and…and it was brilliant, actually. First time I shagged a bloke. I don’t reckon anybody but Peaches and me knows about that. And he has a little scar on his bollocks from a horse’s kick, back when he was a lad. Though I expect the Slayer knows about that bit.” He snorted. “She should be pleased the horse didn’t kick any harder.”

Xander’s mind was still trying to catch up. “You and _Angel_?”

Spike snorted. “Verify _that_.”

“If this isn’t real, I’m going to be totally humiliated, ‘cause that would mean I’m subconsciously imagining Spike and Angel together and…ack!”

Giles cleared his throat. “Yes. I rather think we’d all prefer to be spared the glimpses into the inner recesses of your mind.”

Xander grinned. It was nice to talk to Giles. They’d only spoken once since Kai died, and rarely even before then.

“Would you like the number, then, Xander?”

“Hit me, G-man.” Giles hmphed at him, but it didn’t have much effect across thousands of miles of phone line. Then he gave Xander Angel’s phone number. “So do you two chat often?”

“No. But occasionally the Council has business in Los Angeles and we keep in touch as a courtesy.”

“So he’s, what? Some kind of supernatural PI?”

“More or less.”

“Giles, do you have any idea what’s going on with me and Spike?”

“Not in the least. But I can do some inquiries of my own. The Council has once again accumulated a rather extensive library. Perhaps I can find something there.”

Xander thanked him and they talked a little longer, just gossiping, really, and then said goodbye. The call disconnected, and Xander had to wait only a few minutes for Willow to arrive before he punched in Angel’s number. To his surprise, another British voice answered.

“Angel Investigations. How may we help you?”

“Um, can I talk to Angel, please?”

“I’m afraid he’s engaged at the moment. May I be of assistance?” There was something familiar about this guy, but Xander couldn’t place him.

“I really need to talk to him. It’s kind of an emergency, actually. Can you tell him it’s Xander Harris, and I need to discuss Spike with him?”

“Xander _Harris_? From Sunnydale?”

“Not for about ten years, but yeah. Who’s this?”

“Wesley Wyndham-Price. I was, erm—“

“Faith’s Watcher! I remember you! What the hell are you doing with Angel?” Then he vaguely remembered Willow mentioning something about that to him once.

“We’ve been working together for some time now.”

Xander digested that for a minute. Huh. But he could consider the weirdness of it later. “Look, I really need to—“

“Speak with Angel. I understand. Just a moment, please.”

If anything, his initial conversation with Angel was even more uncomfortable. Xander never had liked the bastard, but he still had some lingering guilt over lying to Buffy that time, and he wondered whether Angel knew that he’d been instrumental in sending him to hell. Probably not, or instead of being kind of gruff and awkward Angel likely would have been threatening to rearrange Xander’s internal organs.

Then came the part where Xander had to ask Angel whether he and Spike had ever screwed. Willow had no idea what he was about to say and she smiled at him encouragingly.

“Um, so I’ve been having these weird dreams lately. With Spike in them. Only I kind of think it’s really him, you know?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Xander.” Angel sounded weary.

“I think it’s really Spike I’m seeing, and he’s sort of on a day pass from hell.”

There was a long silence. “This isn’t funny,” Angel growled.

“Good, because I’m not joking. Angel, he’s…if it’s real, he’s in bad shape. I want to help him.”

Another pause. “It’s Spike.”

“Yeah. The vamp who wore the shiny necklace, right?”

Angel had the world’s most dramatic sigh. “Why are we having this conversation?”

“Because I’m trying to find out whether it’s him. He told me something, and…I’m checking to see whether it’s true. ‘Cause then I’d know he’s not just a figment.”

“What did he say, Xander?” Angel sounded suddenly wary.

Willow crowded close, leaning her head against his so she could hear, too. She was his witness, to make sure this wasn’t all some kind of insane delusion of Xander’s.

“Spike told me that once, back in 1894, you and him—“

“Ah!!” It sounded like Angel was in pain. Or choking, maybe. Could vampires choke? Willow frowned, then suddenly her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. With enormous difficulty, Xander stifled a guffaw.

Having apparently caught his breath, Angel snarled, “The little bastard—“

“So is it true, Angel? I need to know. And, uh, do you have a scar from a hoof on your—“

“Enough!” Angel roared. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but—“

“Angel. He’s been dead ten years. Ten years. How long is that in hell time?”

Angel grew silent again. Xander could hear him swallow. “It’s true,” he whispered. Willow clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Thanks, Angel,” Xander said, and hung up.

He didn’t have the dream that night, and he woke up frantic the next morning. Christ, what if that was it? What if he’d unknowingly broken some stupid rule and now he’d never be able to contact Spike again? How much was Spike suffering right this minute?

He called Michelle and told her he was sick. No way was he going to be safe around power tools today. But that left him home with nothing to do but worry, and pace back and forth, and worry some more. Finally he threw on some shorts and a tee and went for a run. He and Kai used to run together—it’s how they’d met, actually, when Xander had caught sight of the cute blond running in his direction and had been so mesmerized by his shirtless torso that they’d nearly collided. When he ran the same route the next day, there was Kai again, and by the third day they were jogging in place, panting in tandem, agreeing to meet for coffee later.

He’d been out running the day Kai died. Kai was feeling a little under the weather—a nasty head cold. So while he napped Xander jogged to the drugstore and bought him some Nyquil and Kleenex and the latest issue of _Sports Illustrated_. The fire trucks had screamed by Xander when he was still two miles from home, and he hadn’t thought much of it. Until he saw the smoke rising in the early morning sky, and realized it was coming from his block.

By the time he reached his house, his lungs were burning almost as badly as the house and his legs were cramped. The firefighters had to restrain him to keep him from running inside, but it would have been too late anyway; there was already little left of the structure. Wiring problems, the investigator said, or maybe something in the garage spontaneously igniting, but Xander knew better. A few days later he’d personally wiped out the Vrykan demons who’d set the fire, but of course that didn’t do Kai any good.

Now, Xander was winded when he’d gone only a few blocks. Kai would have teased him mercilessly for it. For the first time, Xander found himself smiling over his lover’s memory, and he ran on until he was sucking oxygen in great gasps and sweat glued his shirt to him.

After a long, hot shower, Xander decided to clean up his apartment a little. He laundered the sheets and towels, and then all his dirty clothing. He threw away the pizza boxes and hamburger wrappers, and dumped the bottles and cans into the recycling bin. He washed the dishes and dried them and put them away, and wiped down the kitchen counter, then dusted the tv and the tables and lamps. His apartment was nice and tidy when he was done, but it also looked sterile, not even as much personality as a hotel room. Maybe he ought to get a plant or something, he thought.

He drove to Raley’s next. He bought more beer, of course, but also bananas and cereal and bread and peanut butter. Then he rode around aimlessly for a while, inching down the freeway and then winding along surface streets. He found himself near downtown, in Old Sacramento, and for no reason other than killing time, he paid to visit the railroad museum, which was actually pretty cool, and the history museum, which was overrun with fourth-graders. He stopped at one of the candy stores and bought a bucketful of salt water taffy, then stood along the river, chewing and watching boats go by. He had an early dinner at Joe’s Crab Shack, crabcake sliders with coleslaw and fries.

As soon as it was dark, he headed for Grandview, where he dispatched a single fledge, but not before getting a painful scrape across his back.

Back at home, he flipped blankly through the channels, not really noticing or caring what he watched. He debated with himself whether getting drunk would affect his likelihood of seeing Spike, and ended up compromising by drinking just two bottles. Then he lay back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling again. A spider had made its web in one corner. Maybe the same spider he’d noticed last week. Oddly enough, there was something comforting about its presence, as if it were some sort of pet. He waggled his fingers at it and then imagined it waved a leg or two back.

Only when his eyes grew bleary did he allow himself to rise from the couch and get ready for bed, and then slip between the clean sheets with a sigh.

As soon as he found himself in the room, he groaned in relief and rushed toward Spike, who cowered away from him. “Hey, it’s all right,” Xander said, and sat down cross-legged. “I’m just happy to be back.”

“Didn’t…didn’t think you would,” Spike said, not making eye contact.

“How long has it been for you? Since we saw each other last?”

Spike shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t have a bloody calendar, do I?”

“I checked with Angel. About…what you said.” He couldn’t help it. He started to giggle. Spike cocked an eyebrow at him. “He, uh, confirmed. Willow practically arm-wrestled me over which of us gets to tell Buffy.” Another snort of laughter escaped and he wasn’t positive, but he thought maybe he saw the corner of Spike’s mouth twitch, just once.

“Brilliant. I’m real. But you’re still a bloody mirage, whelp.”

“Not so much. And we’re gonna find a way to get you out of here, Spike, I promise. Even Giles is working on it.”

“The Watcher?”

Xander nodded happily.

“Good thing I didn’t sodding hallucinate him,” Spike muttered.

“See? That would be torture. ‘Cause I bet he wouldn’t do this.” And Xander gathered Spike in his arms again. Spike settled against him.

“It worked, then? The necklace?” Spike asked the crook of Xander’s neck.

“It did. You saved everyone’s ass. Sunnydale’s still a crater, but no big loss there.”

“And you said—the Slayer? She got out all right?”

“Yeah, she did. A couple of the others died, though. And Anya.” He bit his lip. It was still painful to remember. “But most everyone was okay.”

“Nibblet?”

“She’s all grown up. She took a few years off after college, but she’ll be going to law school in the fall.”

Spike made a happy little murmur. But then he pulled back and looked straight into Xander’s eye. “Why, Harris? If you’re real, why are you doing this for me?” He made a vague sort of gesture at their bodies, which were still mostly entwined, at the room in general.

“I don’t have a choice about coming here, Spike.”

“Oh.” Spike’s head drooped.

“But if I did, I’d still do it.”

Spike raised his head and blinked at him.

“I’m…. You’re a _champion_, Spike. Whatever you did in the past, you don’t deserve this, you really don’t.”

“White hat,” Spike said, and buried his face against Xander again.

[Chapter Four](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/91357.html)


	4. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Man of His Dreams (4/13)** _

**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 4 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Four **

He had to go back to work on Tuesday. Michelle needed him and anyway, he’d go insane at home all day, or trying to find ways to pass the time. Being at work also made it easier to stifle the urge to call Willow and Giles. He knew they were both researching their little hearts out, and nagging them wasn’t going to speed things up, but for every day that passed for him, who knew how many went by for Spike, and how much suffering the vampire had to endure.

He did a cursory job of patrolling each evening and then rushed home. He stuffed things in his mouth without tasting them and then, as soon as he possibly could, went to bed. The first time he tried this he was too keyed up to sleep. But the next day Willow gave him a simple little chant to try, not really witchcraft, she said. More like meditation. She also dropped off some candles and incense with what she declared were soothing, calming scents, and instructed him to drink tea that she claimed was made with chamomile and valerian, but could have sworn was really mown grass and cat hair. Also at her instruction, he took a warm bath, and that really was nice. It had been a long time since he’d done anything but shower. When his body felt limp and his eye kept falling shut, he crawled into clean, lavender-scented sheets and mumbled his little spell thing. It worked—he promptly fell asleep.

Spike was there waiting for him each night. Now they automatically moved directly into an embrace. Each time, Spike had fresh injuries, but he seemed momentarily content in Xander’s arms. Sometimes they just sat there, but other times Spike softly asked questions, mostly about what had happened over the past decade to Xander and the other Scoobies. When Xander mentioned that he’d accepted his own bisexuality a couple years after Sunnydale imploded, Spike laughed quietly. “Knew you had it in you,” he said.

He didn’t laugh, though, on Thursday when Xander told him about Kai. Instead, for a change it was Spike who drew Xander into his arms, and even though Xander felt like an idiot for crying on the shoulder of a guy who was burning in hell, it felt really nice to be comforted that way. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to cry since Kai died, actually, and he produced huge, heaving sobs that left his one eye blind with tears and made his nose and throat thick with snot.

“Sorry, no Kleenex,” Xander rasped, snorting inelegantly and trying without much success to wipe the disgusting goo off of Spike’s chest.

“Feel better?’ Spike asked.

“Yeah.” Xander sniffed. “Thanks.”

“’S not your fault, you know. Losing your boy like that.”

Shit. Xander had forgotten how Spike could be so damned insightful every now and then. “It is my fault. Those demons torched the house because it was mine. Kai never did anything to tick them off. He was a high school history teacher, for Christ’s sake!”

“Did he know what you do, Xander?”

Despite the unpleasantness of the topic of conversation, Xander couldn’t help but notice Spike’s use of his first name. “Yeah, he knew,” Xander sighed. “Once in a while he even came with me on patrol, just to watch.”

“And he stayed with you anyhow?”

“Yeah.” He was surprised to find himself blushing. “He said it was hot, actually. The whole rescue hero kind of thing, I guess.”

Spike chuckled. “So he got off on it. He’s not the first, I’ll wager. Remember Captain Cardboard?”

Riley Finn. Xander sniggered a little. Even he had been able to sense the lust rolling off the guy when Buffy was in full Slayer mode.

“Your boy liked the scent of danger. Can’t blame him. Did you ever tell him there was risk to him as well?”

Xander sighed. “Yeah. I did.”

Spike shrugged. “Then he made his choice, Xander. It was those demons who killed him, not you. There are enough things to shoulder the blame for already in life—don’t take on more.”

“Pretty wise words from a guy who insists he deserves damnation.”

“Demon, remember? Scourge of Europe. Killed thousands. And the other things I did—“

“Spike, I’m gonna wake up soon. Let’s not get into this argument again.”

Spike burrowed his face against the skin of Xander’s neck, and for the first time in a while, Xander was suddenly reminded that he was oh so naked. And so was Spike.

Spike pulled away slightly, then looked down at Xander’s lap. He looked up again with one eyebrow cocked, while Xander felt his face go purple. “Uh, sorry.”

“Found something you’d rather do than have a row, have you?” He’d forgotten how good Spike was at leering, too.

“I-I’m really sorry,” Xander stammered. “I didn’t—“

Spike cut off his apology by the rather efficient method of covering Xander’s lips with his own. Oh, fuck, but Spike knew how to kiss. Not a big surprise there. Plenty of years to gain experience, and he certainly was good with his mouth in other ways. Only when Xander realized he was growing slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen—not to mention all the blood suddenly flowing rather more south than his brain—did he pull away.

Spike grinned at him smugly. “Either I’ve just invented a whole new way to wank, or I’ve been snogging a Slayerette.”

“Hey! I haven’t been a Slayerette for years!”

Spike lightly stroked Xander’s erection, which made all the precious breath escape his lungs in a hiss. “No. All grown up now, aren’t you?”

Xander scooted slightly away, until he was barely out of reach. “Um, Spike—“

Spike sighed. “Haven’t had a leg over in…a bloody long time. Not a lot of shagging in hell, you know. Least, not the good kind. And you’re a right treat.”

Xander blushed again. “Spike, I’m gonna wake up really soon, and I’d rather not be, uh, in the middle of things when I do.” Spike slumped unhappily, and Xander hated to see that. So he gave his own version of Spike’s wicked smile. “Next time we’ll start sooner, okay?”

Spike sighed but smiled a little, and again leaned against Xander. Xander was awash in emotions—embarrassment, arousal, disappointment, and, most of all, relief that Spike seemed to be returning gradually to his old self. Spike rubbing Xander’s cock was whole worlds better than Spike cowering in the corner.

On Friday afternoon, Xander’s phone rang. He put down the can of varnish he had been in the midst of opening and fumbled the phone out of his pocket. His hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the thing. It was Willow. She never called him at work, so this must mean she had news.

“Will? What? Have you found something out?”

She sounded calm. “Yes. Can you come over now? We need to talk.”

His stomach plummeted as if he was on a roller coaster. “Will?” he choked.

“I think this is gonna be better in person, Xan.”

That didn’t help one bit. He glanced over at Michelle, who was looking at him with concern etched across her face. “Okay, yeah. Be there soon.” He slid the phone back into his pocket.

“Everything okay?” Michelle asked, walking closer.

“No. Well, I don’t know. It’s…that old friend. He’s…in a lot of trouble.”

Michelle frowned. He hadn’t really told much about his past, because it’s not like she was going to let him anywhere near power tools if he started going on about demons and Hellmouths and vampire slayers. “My cousin’s a lawyer,” she said. “I think he’s pretty good. I can give you his number.”

“Thanks, but it’s not legal problems he’s having.” Well, apart from the Final Judgment, he thought sourly. “It’s more of a personal crisis.”

“Is he in Sacramento?”

That would be a big no. “No, not now. Look, if I need to take a few days off—“

“Sure, Xander.” She patted his arm. “Take as much time as you need. You’re a good friend.”

He tried to smile at her. “Thanks, Michelle.”

Willow was waiting for him at home. The girls were still at school and Jaimee must have been at work, and the house was very quiet. Willow motioned to the couch and, when he sat, handed him a bottle of Sam Adams. Not a good sign, he thought, and he quickly swallowed half of it down.

Willow sat next to him, her body angled towards his. She rubbed her hands nervously on her legs and gave him a wan smile. “So, I found out some stuff. Giles did, too. We sort of collaborated.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not sure why he’s suddenly appearing now, after all these years. We think we know why it’s you, though.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because he was closer to you than any living person except Buffy. I mean, I know you weren’t close the same way.” Her cheeks colored a little, and he stifled a snigger. She didn’t even know about last night’s interaction.

“We weren’t exactly best pals, Will.”

“I know. But you were roomies twice, right? And there at the end, I mean, he helped you with, uh, the eye and all. You’re the closest he had to a human friend, Xander.”

Xander swallowed. That sucked, now that he thought about it. Spike might have been a murderous fiend, but even without a soul he’d clearly needed companionship of some kind. “But what about Buffy? They were closer than he and I were, that’s for sure.” So far, anyway.

“It might be the whole Slayer thing—she’s not exactly normal human, is she? Or maybe it’s a distance thing. Sacramento’s a lot closer to Sunnydale than Newark. And maybe that’s why the dreams just started recently, now that you’re back in California.”

“But he’s not in Sunnydale. He’s in hell.” Sunnydale might have sucked, but it hadn’t been the netherworld.

She nodded. “I know. But Giles and I think maybe it has something to do with that amulet he wore. Maybe it trapped a part of his…I don’t know. His essence. Left him with some kind of connection to the world.”

“So what happened to the necklace?”

She made a face. “As far as we know, it’s still there.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

He took another long sip. “So. Magic jewelry. How do we get him out?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know that we can.”

He set the bottle down on the coffee table and shook his head. “No. I can’t accept that. We have to do it.”

She tilted her head at him. “You really care about him, don’t you?”

“He’s haunting my head, Willow! And if you saw what kind of shape he’s in…. Christ!” His voice broke and he had to look away.

She paused, and then patted his knee. “Okay. We’ll do what we can. But…I think we’re gonna need the necklace, Xander.”

He buried his face in his hands. Great.

He and Spike collapsed into one another’s arms and Spike rested his forehead against Xander’s shoulder. “’M never certain you’ll return,” he said.

“I’m not going to abandon you, Spike.”

Spike snuffled. “Figment,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, then I’m a loyal figment, I guess.” He had thought all evening about whether to tell Spike about his conversation with Willow. He wasn’t sure whether it would be better to give the vampire at least a little hope, or to avoid the possibility that that hope would be dashed if he couldn’t find the amulet, or if Willow couldn’t find a way to save Spike. In the end, he’d decided that if he were roasting in hell, he’d at least want to know there was a chance of salvation. And from the way Spike seemed to be teetering on the thin edge of despair, Xander guessed the knowledge would help more than it would hurt.

So Xander described what Willow had said, and Spike listened with his eyes wide with shock. But when Xander was finished, Spike shook his head. “No. Can’t save me. Told you, I’m lost.”

“Then we’ll find you. Look, Angel got out of hell. If that bastard could do it, so can you.”

Spike blinked at him as if he’d never considered that before. For a moment he looked almost hopeful, but then his shoulders slumped again. “The pouf was a special case, wasn’t he? Sent to hell by the Slayer and her magic sword, yeah?”

“Yeah, and you were sent by a magic crackerjack prize. Willow and Giles are working on it, and they’re really good at this stuff. Think of all the apocalypses they’ve stopped.”

Xander could see hope and doubt warring on Spike’s face. “Why would they want to help _me_?”

“Because I asked them to, Spike. Because even Giles knows that you were a real hero, there at the end.”

Spike sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, looking heartbreakingly vulnerable. He had a long, deep cut running diagonally across his upper chest this time. It was bloodless, but Xander could catch glimpses of muscle and bone through the split skin. He didn’t mention it; he and Spike never discussed the vampire’s latest injuries.

“Have you been back to Sunnydale since….”

“No. It’s just a huge hole in the ground. Officially, it’s the result of the world’s biggest sinkhole. There’s lots of rumors, though. UFO nuts hang out there because they think aliens did it. Some people claim it was the government testing a new weapon.”

Spike snorted. “When will you go?”

“Soon as I wake up. I don’t want to leave you here any longer than I have to.”

“Finding that magic knickknack in a huge space like that—that’d take you years. If it wasn’t destroyed altogether.”

“Willow thinks it still exists, or you and I wouldn’t be here. And she gave me this thing—it’s sort of a metal detector, only it finds mystical stuff.”

“You won’t…you won’t be in danger?”

Spike looked genuinely worried, and Xander smiled easily at him. “Hey, I’m a hallucination, right? What can hurt me?” Spike glared a little. “Seriously, it’s fine. All the spooky shit went away when the Hellmouth collapsed. Scariest thing I’m gonna have to face is 400 miles of I-5.”

He scooted around and put an arm over Spike’s shoulders. Spike leaned into him and then Xander tentatively pressed his lips to Spike’s smoke-scented hair. Spike responded with a pleased little sound, somewhere between a sigh and a purr. “Never expected this,” Spike said. Xander wasn’t sure to what part of their strange circumstances Spike was referring. All of it, maybe. He had to agree.

Then Spike squirmed around a little and looked at him with glittering blue eyes. “What we started, last time…. You reckon there’s time enough before you wake up?”

All the blood in Xander’s body rushed to his groin and his face. “Um, yeah. If we’re quick. Not that I’m normally quick about this. Hey, I’m practically Marathon Man. But, you know, since our time is limited—“

Spike grinned. “You’ll make the sacrifice, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Spike’s gaze turned inward. “Been a bloody long time for me.”

Xander patted him a little awkwardly. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Spike replied, and, to prove his point, twisted around completely and pressed Xander flat against the floor, then draped himself on top.

An atavistic part of Xander’s brain screamed, “Vampire! Vampire on top of you!” Strangely, this in no way reduced the arousal that Xander felt surging through his veins, and he moaned slightly as Spike lowered his head for a hard, passionate kiss. This one was even better than the last, maybe because this time Spike’s cool, hard body was weighing against him, and Spike was slowly grinding his hips against Xander’s. The pressure of their cocks together was exquisite and Xander knew that making this quick was so not going to be a problem.

He lifted his hands up and set them on Spike’s ass, and Spike whimpered needily as Xander dug his calloused fingertips into soft flesh and big muscles. But when Spike broke off the kiss to nibble and suck at Xander’s neck, it was Xander’s turn to whine and arch his back and try to press himself even more firmly against Spike. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned.

Spike chuckled, his breath tickling Xander’s skin. “That’s the idea, pet.” He reached behind himself then and moved Xander’s hand slightly, making it very clear that he was hoping for slightly more wandering fingers. Xander was happy to oblige, first stroking softly at Spike’s cleft and then delving in a little more to brush at the tight little hole. Spike gasped and wiggled. “Yeah, love,” he panted. “Like that.”

It occurred to Xander then that between the bare room and their bare bodies, there was not a drop of lube to be found. Still, Spike definitely didn’t seem to mind when Xander carefully pressed one dry finger inside. In fact, he tilted his ass upward a bit, further impaling himself, and growled happily. “Warm. You’re so warm, pet. You’ll put out the fire, yeah? Please?”

That logic didn’t make much sense to Xander, but he wasn’t about to argue, not right now. “I’ll put it out, Spike. I will. God, that’s so good!” And then Spike raised his pelvis a little and wrapped a long hand around both their cocks. Spike spread his legs wider and Xander couldn’t manage to say anything more coherent than assorted grunts and blasphemies. Spike, too, had devolved to hisses and growls and muttered Britishisms. Xander had never in his life seen anything as sexy as Spike’s face and torso above him, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and his eyelids fluttering, his long, pale neck corded, his shoulders flexing as he moved.

Xander was close, his entire body tottering on the precipice, when Spike opened his eyes and looked down at him. “Real. You feel so bloody real.”

Xander pushed his finger in a little more. Spike shuddered atop him and Xander felt the cool liquid of Spike’s release on his own cock and belly, and the clenching of Spike’s tight muscles around his finger, and he fell over the edge, fast and heavy.

[Chapter Five](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/91628.html)


	5. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**|   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Man of His Dreams (5/13)**_

**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 5 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

 

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Five **

 

He woke up with semen sticking the sheets to him, and with an aching emptiness where Spike had just been. When he reached up, there were tears trickling down his face as well.

It took him only a few minutes to pack. He threw a couple changes of clothes into a black duffel bag, and tucked in his hairbrush and toothbrush and toothpaste and razor as well. After hesitating a moment, he dumped in a half dozen or so stakes and a sharp hunting knife in a sheath he could buckle around his hips. On top of it all he placed the thing Willow had given him, a metal rod about eighteen inches long. It looked a little like rebar, except it was a strange, purplish color, and each end sported a twisted shape made of a softer metal that might have been copper.

He stopped in the kitchen long enough to eat a couple slices of cold leftover pizza for breakfast, and then he hit the road.

The freeway was endless and excruciatingly boring as it ran the length of the Central Valley. Subdivisions and small cities were interspersed with dairy farms in the north, and then orchards and vineyards as he got farther south, until finally the soil was hardly more than dust, and oil derricks rose and fell like weary dinosaurs. As he climbed over the Grapevine, it occurred to him that, although he’d travelled a fair amount in the past decade, this was the first time he’d come anywhere near his childhood home. Dropping into the San Fernando Valley, he fervently hoped that none of the ghosts that haunted Sunnydale were literal.

An odd little settlement had grown up between Goleta and the crater formerly known as Sunnydale. It consisted of a couple of motels—The Alien Landing Inn, The Sinkhole Motel—and a gas station, three or four restaurants and a souvenir shop. It was close enough to sundown already that Xander couldn’t bring himself to face what remained of his hometown. So he checked into the Sinkhole and called Willow to let her know he’d arrived, then had a terrible dinner at a Mexican place next to the motel. Back in his dinky, depressing room, he channel surfed for a while, then paid for and watched _Naughty Bi Nature_ while half-heartedly jerking off.

When he finally turned off the light, he tossed and turned restlessly for a long time. When he did fall asleep, he dreamed of Principal Snyder and Jesse and Joyce and Miss Calendar, but not at all of Spike.

He woke at dawn without even the help of an alarm clock. He considered breakfast, but his stomach told him it wasn’t interested, so he showered instead and threw his bag back into the truck. It was cloudy out and he hoped it wouldn’t rain. He didn’t much relish the thought of searching through mud and muck. But the weather stayed dry as he drove the few miles to Sunnydale.

Officially, the crater was closed. What had once been the main road into town was blocked off, and it was there that whackos and curiosity seekers gathered to hike a hundred yards or so and peer over the railing. Xander took only a cursory look, remembering the last time he’d stood there, minutes after Anya’s death and Spike’s, and the odd feeling that had settled in him then, a mixture of triumph and sorrow. But now he drove back a half mile or so and took a left onto Cathedral Oaks Road. This led him through scrub and almost up to the hills, and then he turned again and came down Las Positas.

That road ended, too, but there were no bored security guards here, not even a railing. Xander pulled the truck over and climbed out. He buckled the knife around his waist and filled his pockets with stakes. Then he grabbed the magic detector and headed for the edge of the crater.

The drop-off was steep, but not too much to manage. His boots skidded a little as he descended, and once or twice he had to put out a hand to steady himself, but soon enough he was at the flat bottom of the hole. It was eerily quiet down here. Not a single bird singing, no rustle of a breeze, not even a bug trundling through the dirt. The dirt itself stretched evenly to the opposite side of the crater. It had been ten years, but he couldn’t see so much as a blade of grass growing here. It felt a little like being on the moon. Only more oxygenated, thank goodness.

Without any landmarks, it was impossible to tell where he stood, and, although he knew the general direction of the high school from here, he had no way of telling how far to walk, or exactly which way. He hoped Willow’s magic doohickey worked.

As soon as he put the rod in his hand, the metal grew warm and began to vibrate slightly. It was annoying, but not unexpected. Willow said the whole former town probably had magic residue, so some reaction to the background mojo was probably going to happen. Feeling like an idiot, Xander waved the rod vaguely in the air. When he pointed it toward the direction where he thought Sunnydale High once stood, the vibration grew notably more intense, like one of those pagers they sometimes gave you in restaurants. Taking this as a positive sign, he set off that way.

It was difficult to judge distance down here; everything looked deceptively close. But of course Sunnydale had been several miles in diameter, and he walked for over an hour without the opposite wall of the hole seeming to get much closer. The clouds had burned off by then, and he wished he’d thought to bring some water. He considered for a moment and then tied his jacket around his waist. It made his knife and wooden arsenal more difficult to access, but vamps weren’t really likely to be a problem in the bright sun anyway, and besides, he hoped he’d have plenty of chance to see anything else coming before it got to him.

Ten minutes or so later, the rod in his hand began to quiver quite urgently. He broke into a trot and the rod directed him to a patch of dirt that looked identical to all the rest. But then the metal actually forcibly bent his hand so that the tip of the wand was pointing at one particular spot on the ground. Xander jammed the wand in his back pocket, knelt, and began to scrabble in the dirt with his hands.

In retrospect, a shovel would have been wise. His hands were pretty tough from his carpentry work, but nevertheless by the time he’d dug a few inches into the hardpan his nails were broken and his fingers and palms were bleeding. He was just debating with himself the wisdom of walking back, then driving to the nearest hardware store for a spade, when his fingertips brushed against something smooth and hard. Suddenly he didn’t feel the discomfort anymore as he frantically scraped at the earth. And then, a few moments later, he was rewarded for his labors when he uncovered a gaudy, shiny pendant.

He stared at the amulet for a moment, remembering what it had done, wondering whether some of Spike really was trapped inside it, somehow. Then he gently pulled it out of the dirt completely and brushed it off. He stood, and he was going to shove it into a front pocket, but, on impulse, he hung the chain around his neck instead. It was strangely heavy and almost hot, even through the cotton of his t-shirt. He felt like an imposter, because gods knew he wasn’t any champion, but still he kept the necklace on as he turned and walked back toward his truck.

The sun was glaring now and he kept his head down, allowing his hair to fall forward and shade his eye a little. Still the only sound was the quiet crunch-crunch of his own footsteps and the small whistle of the air moving in and out of his lungs. Every now and then he glanced up, partly to make sure he was still heading in the right direction, but partly too to convince himself he wasn’t just walking in circles. It seemed like it was taking much longer to return than it had to get to the amulet in the first place.

He was looking down at his boots, idly wondering how soon he was going to have to buy a new pair, when the necklace suddenly flared against him with a heat so intense it was like a burning coal against his chest. “Ouch!” he cried and automatically reached to yank it off. Before he touched it, though, the pain faded away and then he stopped in his tracks as an immense dust cloud whirled directly in front of him.

“Uh-oh,” he said, and fumbled for one of his stakes.

But before he could grab anything, the dust devil was upon him. And devil was the right term, because he could actually make out faces in the swirling dirt, malevolent, snarling faces that shifted and disappeared before reappearing elsewhere in the cloud. They had hands, too, or claws, that snatched and grabbed at him, scoring and flaying his clothes and skin as they tried to take the necklace away from him.

Xander was good at fighting. He’d been battling beasts for seventeen years now, over half his life, and he’d managed to stay mostly intact in the process. Sure, for the first several years he’d played backup to a Slayer, a witch, and various other superpowered types, but he’d been on his own for some time now, and usually managed to eliminate the nasties with only minor injuries to himself.

But beating this…whatever it was…was proving impossible. He eventually managed to get a chunk of sharpened wood wrapped in his fist, but even when he thrust it over and over again into the cloud, he hit nothing substantial at all. The devil thing, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem making itself good and solid when it wanted to hurt him, or as it tried to seize the necklace. On top of that, he was struggling to both attack and defend himself with his right hand, while his left held tightly to the amulet.

He was losing. The lacerations were getting deeper, the tugs on the necklace more insistent, and the cloud was sucking all the air away so that his lungs rasped and burned and his vision spun and sparked. He screamed in agony as the fingers of his left hand were savagely bent back and the necklace was torn from his grip. A talon swiped at his forehead, blinding his one good eye in a sheet of blood. And then everything went black.

Even without looking at his watch, he could tell by the position of the sun that it was hours later when he woke up. His entire body was a throbbing ball of pain, with his hand such screeching agony that it felt almost like a separate entity. Moaning, he slowly raised himself to a seated position. He felt around his neck with his good hand, but of course the necklace was gone. A frantic search revealed no sign of it anywhere near, and Willow’s magic detector failed to lead him to it either.

“Oh, gods, Spike, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, falling to his knees.

When he finished crying and managed to shake some calm back into himself, not only was his body sore, but it felt desiccated as well. He stood and plodded slowly back toward the edge of the crater. It occurred to him at some point to try calling Willow, but he was completely unsurprised to discover that he couldn’t get a signal at all on his cell phone.

Getting back up the slope was difficult, especially with his mangled hand curled protectively against his chest. He fell several times, which jostled all of his wounds. It was almost dark by the time he finally crawled over the edge and then weaved wearily to the Toyota. Fortunately, he kept a first aid kit under the seat, and although it was awkward working one-handed, he managed to at least clean and disinfect the worst of the claw marks. When he was digging around under the seat, he also discovered a half-empty bottle of water. It was warm but wet, and it tasted wonderful in his parched mouth and throat.

He was thankful not to have a manual transmission as he started the ignition and drove back to the motel. His fingers were going to need splinting at least, but he couldn’t face emergency room personnel tonight; he was too worn out and defeated to try to manufacture credible explanations for what had happened to him.

He drank what felt like several gallons of water when he got to his room. He wasn’t remotely hungry, but he hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and his stomach was complaining bitterly. He figured fainting from low blood sugar wasn’t going to do anyone any good, and he ran across the parking lot to the Carl’s Jr. The kid there gaped at his distorted hand and bandaged and eyepatched face before handing over a bag full of burger and fries.

Xander called Willow while he ate. She gasped over his description of what had happened. “Goddess! Are you all right, Xan?”

“I’ll live,” he said impatiently. “But what the hell was that thing, and how do I find it and get the amulet back?” He knew he sounded desperate, and he only hoped he could keep himself from breaking down and crying again.

“I dunno. I’m going to have to do some—“

“Research,” he finished wearily. “Right.”

“I’m doing my best.”

He sighed. “I know, Wills. I’m sorry. It’s just—Christ, I had the thing in my hands, and then—“

“We’ll think of something. But speaking of hands, go get yours looked at, mister.”

“Yeah. In the morning, though. I need to sleep now.” And see if he could contact Spike, he didn’t add.

After Willow extracted a promise that he’d go to the hospital first thing in the morning, he took a hot bath, trying to wash off the rest of the blood and get the dust of Sunnydale out of his pores. There was a circular burn on his chest where the amulet had been. It was puffy and red, and it hurt when he touched it. It looked like it might scar. Great. A permanent reminder of his failure.

When the tub cooled he got out and dried himself and crawled into the slightly lumpy bed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the empty room.

 

He didn’t dream that night. Instead he woke up feeling sore and slightly feverish, with his hand throbbing sharply and his heart aching.

There was a small hospital in Goleta. He told the doctor that he’d got his hand caught in the rollers of a planer machine. The doctor looked at the bandages on his face and the scrapes around his neck and gave him a skeptical glare, but she straightened his fingers and set splints around them without saying anything. His thumb was the only intact digit, and he supposed he should be thankful for that small mercy, but he was too depressed to manage it.

It took the better part of the morning to get patched up, and the sun was high when he pulled over at the same spot on Las Positas as the day before. He hoped the dust devil wouldn’t return—if he couldn’t defend himself the day before, he certainly wasn’t going to be able to manage one-handed—but he had the feeling that it had already got what it had come for. He lowered himself back into the crater. Willow’s magic rod just gave a small general vibration, refusing to direct him anywhere in particular, but he could see his own footsteps from the day before, and he followed them back.

The sun glinted off something ahead of him, and his heart raced. He rushed ahead, only to collapse in horror when he got a better look at what lay on the ground. It was the necklace all right, but the chain was broken and the amulet itself was crushed into dozens of tiny, twisted shards.

Sadly, he pulled off his shirt and then used the side of his right arm to sweep the pieces onto the fabric. Tying the shirt around the pathetic little pile was difficult with the splint, but he finally managed and then, for what he hoped was the last time, left Sunnydale.

The drive back to Sacramento was endless, and it was past midnight when he arrived. He’d called Willow from the road to tell her about the amulet, and she promised to come see him in the morning. His apartment seemed emptier than ever. His placed the little ball of fabric, dirt, and metal on his nightstand and, without even bothering to take off more than his boots, went to sleep.

[Chapter Six](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/91725.html)

.


	6. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Man of His Dreams (6/13)**_  
**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 6 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Six **

“What the bloody hell happened to you?”

Xander didn’t bother to answer. He was too busy clutching the wiry body to himself, sobbing with relief. Spike stroked his back soothingly, cooing softly in his ear until Xander’s wails subsided to small hiccups. Then Spike pushed Xander gently away and ran his cool hands over the splint, over all the cuts and slashes and bruises on Xander’s face and body, over the circular burn on Xander’s chest. “Love?” he finally asked.

Xander wiped his nose with the back of his arm and then hung his head. “I’m sorry, Spike. Gods, I’m so sorry.”

“What is it, pet? What happened?” Spike’s voice was low and concerned, and he cupped a palm against Xander’s wet cheek.

“I—I found the necklace. Dug it up and put it around my neck, and then didn’t even get out of the hole before this…this _thing_ came and took it away.”

Spike touched Xander’s shoulder with the hand that wasn’t on Xander’s face. “Didn’t just take it, did it? You fought for it, yeah? That’s how you were hurt.”

Xander sniffled miserably. “Fat lot of good that did. The fucker still got it. And when I went to look for it today, I found it. Spike, it’s destroyed. Crushed into little bits. I’m sorry! I should have—“

“Shh!” Spike quieted him by moving his fingers across Xander’s mouth. “Did your best, didn’t you? Shouldn’t have had to go there alone. Lucky you weren’t hurt worse, or killed.” He shivered slightly as he said the last word.

“But…the necklace. It’s ruined, Spike! And now how are we going to save you?”

Spike was silent a moment, then used his hand to tilt Xander’s head up so he could look him in the eye. “Perhaps the witch was wrong, and it’s nothing to do with the sodding jewelry to begin with. ‘M still here with you, yeah?”

Xander blinked. Spike had a point. If Spike’s…essence, or whatever it was…was in the amulet, then the necklace’s destruction should have stranded him entirely in hell. Yet here he was in the dream room, seemingly as real as ever. “Then…how?”

“Dunno, pet. Look. Rescuing me, it’s not your responsibility. These bits of time we have together, they’re my salvation. I think of them when…when I’m not here. It’s more than I deserve, I expect.”

“No,” Xander murmured, but he didn’t protest as Spike carefully eased him down onto the slightly scratchy carpet and then kissed every one of Xander’s injuries before moving his mouth farther south to Xander’s hard and needy cock. He soon proved himself as adept at fellatio as he was at kissing, and it didn’t take long before Xander emptied himself down that cold and willing throat. But when Xander squirmed around, intending to repay the favor, Spike chuckled and gestured at his own pretty cock, which was wet and softening.

“I’m afraid I soiled your dream rug,” he said with a wry little grin.

“Oh. I guess you enjoyed that, then.”

“Told you before. You’re a bloody treat.”

They lay next to each other on their sides after that, allowing Spike’s left hand and Xander’s right to lazily explore one another’s bodies, tickling and rubbing and tracing over skin. Xander was still marveling over the perfection of Spike’s form when he was drawn out of the dream and into his waking life.

Willow clucked over Xander’s injuries, but he barely felt them anymore. He could hardly think of a time in his life when he had been whole, really. As soon as he’d grown old enough to escape Tony’s hard hands, he’d begun patrolling with Buffy. Even his fingers were merely a dull twinge now, unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

“I saw Spike last night!” he exclaimed to her excitedly. “So even if the necklace is busted, he’s still around somehow.”

Willow sat next to him on his couch. “That’s wonderful! Does he have an explanation?”

“No. He doesn’t know any more than I do.”

“Can’t he at least speculate? I mean, you guys had all night to talk, right?”

Xander felt an incriminating blush work its way across his face. Willow looked slightly puzzled for a moment, and then her mouth dropped open. “You didn’t! You and, and Spike!” She covered her mouth with one hand and stared at him, wide-eyed.

He bit at his lip. “Um…we sort of did.”

“You and Spike!” she repeated. “I mean, I know you like boys plenty, and you said Spike and Angel once…but, but…_you_ and _Spike_!”

Now he felt kind of defensive. “What? You don’t think he’d want me? He’s been in hell, Wills. Not a lot of dating action there, I imagine. I’d like to think I’m an improvement over whatever he hangs out with there.”

She’d managed to regain a little control. “I didn’t mean…. Of course he’d want you, Xan. I mean, you’re, well, who wouldn’t want you? And Spike’s definitely all with the sexy, but…wow. If Buffy knew!”

“Let’s keep her out of this for now,” Xander said hastily.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I…I think I know what your monster was.”

“Yeah?” He was happy both for the change of subject and for the news.

“It’s called Araxon. It’s supposed to be one of the gatekeepers to hell.”

“Oh.”

“So maybe it knew you were trying to get the amulet to get Spike out of there, and—“

“And it made sure I couldn’t.”

She nodded.

He rubbed at his face. “Okay. So it got the damn thing and broke it, but I can still contact Spike. Does that mean he wasn’t in the thing to begin with, and we were all mistaken? Or does it mean now he’s stuck in hell permanently, with occasional conjugal visits?” His head was starting to hurt.

“I don’t know. Can I see what’s left of the amulet?”

He placed the wadded up t-shirt gently on the kitchen table, as if Spike really were somehow trapped inside. Willow untied it, though; it would have been hard for him to do with the cast. When the shirt was open, she peered carefully at the contents and poked at them gently with one fingertip. “I don’t sense anything magic here,” she mumbled.

Xander remembered the rod she’d given him. He fetched it from his bedroom and handed it to her. “Nothing,” she reported after a minute, and put the detector down.

Xander sighed. “So now what? Wait. Let me guess. More research.”

She gave him her determined smile and they hugged before she headed home.

Another week passed. Xander went back to work, doing the best he could one-handed. He made up a story for Michelle about a bar fight, and she didn’t look like she believed it any better than the doctor had his tale about the planer. “How about your friend?” she asked.

“He’s still…not out of the woods.”

“Do you need more time off?”

“No. I’m gonna go nuts, just rattling around my place, waiting, you know? You can pay me half my salary, if you want.” He waved the cast around a little.

She smiled warmly. “No, of course not. You’re plenty useful, even like this.”

He wished he was as useful to Spike. Well, he still dreamed of him every night, and the two of them talked and petted each other and made out and had sex and just plain old cuddled. Xander wondered if Spike had always been a snuggler, or if it was just a byproduct of his situation. He imagined asking Buffy—or, even better, Angel—and erupted in giggles that had Spike lifting one eyebrow at him.

Spike seemed more patient about the whole thing than Xander. Maybe because he still didn’t quite allow himself to believe that he might be rescued. In fact, he refused to talk about that possibility at all, instead preferring to hear more about Xander’s adventures over the past ten years, or to tell about some of the things he’d done before he came to Sunnydale.

“It doesn’t bother you, pet?” he asked. He’d just related a long story about a time in France during World War I, where he and Dru had feasted on soldiers of a variety of nationalities, and, for a couple of years, set up a small court in an abandoned villa.

“Which part? You and Drusilla? Already knew about her, remember? Not jealous.” He ran a hand down Spike’s snowy flank.

“Nah. I meant the death and mayhem bits. Feeding off the multitudes, all that.”

Xander shrugged. “I know you’re a vampire, Spike. I didn’t figure you spent 120 years attending peace rallies and ministering to the sick.”

“But what I’ve done—“

“Is done.” He sighed. “You’ve suffered plenty for it, haven’t you?”

“’M not talking about my final reward here, Xander. I want to know how _you_ feel about it.”

“ I wasn’t all that happy about the parts when you were trying to kill me and my friends, but, hey. We weren’t very nice to you either. Even when you were on our side, actually.” He said this last sadly. At the time it had made perfect sense to treat Spike as he had, but now…now he regretted at least some of it.

Spike smiled. “So we’ll let bygones be bygones?” He toyed with the hairs on Xander’s chest.

“Yeah. Are we having a relationship talk here, Spike?”

But Spike didn’t meet his gaze. “You never asked for this.”

“But I ain’t complaining.” Xander rubbed Spike’s hip again. “Definitely no complaints here.”

“If you really could get me out of here….”

Xander knew where this was going. “You won’t be under any obligation, okay? I’ll understand if you want to move on, once your options are a little wider.”

Spike looked at him gravely. “And if I don’t want to move on?”

That was unexpected. Xander swallowed. “I’d…I’d like that better.”

“The people I’ve cared for…I’ve never chosen them. They just happened. But I cared for them all the same. Told the Slayer and the pouf once, I’m love’s bitch. Still am.” He cupped his hand at the back of Xander’s skull, twining his fingers through Xander’s hair. “Still am, pet.”

[Chapter Seven](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/92021.html)


	7. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Man of His Dreams (7/13)**_  
**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 7 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Seven **

“Xan? I think I got it!”

The message came through while he was out running, and he called Willow back as soon as he returned home. “What is it?” he demanded, still panting, his sweat dripping onto the kitchen floor.

“Giles and I, we found this spell. It’s a little tricky, but it’s supposed to reveal any vital energies, like ghosts and that sort of thing. If there’s anything left of Spike in that necklace, it should show up.”

“Does it work even on the vital energies of vampires?”

“I don’t know. Vampire ghosts—not a lot of call for folks to search for them, I don’t think. But it’s worth a shot at least, you know?”

“Yeah, absolutely. When can we do it?”

“I just need to gather a few things. I’ll be over in an hour, okay?”

It was a very long hour. He paced back and forth, back and forth, then showered, then paced some more. He would have gone back out and run some more, if his muscles weren’t already aching from his first run today.

When Willow knocked, he flung the door open immediately, making her jump slightly. She was carrying a large shopping bag from Trader Joe’s. He ushered her in and she headed straight for the kitchen, where the broken necklace still lay on the table, now cleaned of dirt and sitting in a small wooden case. She unpacked things from her bag—bunches of strong-smelling herbs, a glass bottle of greenish viscous liquid, a big ceramic bowl, a handful of colored stones. He rarely saw her practice witchcraft, so now he watched with mild interest as she mixed and crumbled and poured, muttering things in foreign languages under her breath the whole time.

Finally, she looked up at him with a smile. “So how this is supposed to work is I say a few words and light this on fire.” She pointed at the gooey mixture in the bowl, which didn’t look remotely flammable. “A mist is supposed to rise up and fill the room, and when it goes away, any traces of vital energy will glow.”

“So you and I will be all lit up?”

“No. It doesn’t work on things that are still living. But, hey, if you have any ghosts around we’re about to find out.”

“Great.”

He expected her to produce a match or a lighter, but she just said a single word and snapped her fingers, and a tiny flame appeared on her palm. It didn’t seem to burn her, though. She gently tossed the flame into the bowl, and the stuff inside burst into green flame, then started pouring out green mist that smelled like mint and bacon. It made his stomach growl. Soon the mist was so thick that he couldn’t see anything at all, which was a little disconcerting. But Willow was still next to him and she squeezed his hand reassuringly. There was a loud _pop_, and the room was instantly clear.

Xander and Willow peered down at the box, looking for any sign of…anything…on the mangled bits of metal. There was nothing. Xander sighed heavily and hung his head, and Willow’s shoulders slumped too.

“Sorry, Xander,” she said. “I’d really hoped that would work.” She turned toward him. “We’ll just have to—“ And then she gasped.

She was staring at the middle of Xander’s chest. He looked down at himself. There was his slightly ratty brown t-shirt, just as he’d expected. But directly over his sternum a white light shone so brightly it almost hurt to look at it.

“Hey. I though you said it doesn’t work on living people.”

“It doesn’t,” she whispered. And sure enough, there was nothing glowy about her at all. He caught himself staring at her chest and blushed, but she didn’t notice, because she was still looking at that bright light.

And then, slightly belatedly, another light went off over his head, only this one was figurative. He grasped the hem of his shirt and lifted it, to reveal the light still there, emanating directly from the burn scar on his chest.

“Xander? How did—“

“I forgot. I was wearing the necklace and it got really hot, right before that Araxon thing showed up.” The burn itself had hurt very little, and, although the scar remained, he’d almost forgotten about it in the wake of his worry about Spike.

Willow’s eyes raised and she looked at him in wonder. “Xander? I think…I’m pretty sure now Spike’s in _you_.”

“You’re saying I’m possessing you?” Spike lifted his eyebrow. He was good at that.

“I don’t think it’s possessing, exactly. I mean, I was possessed once, and it wasn’t anything like this.”

“Oh?”

“High school. Hyena. Long story.” Xander shuddered. “Not a good one, either.”

Spike looked like he’d really like to hear more, but what he said was, “So if I’m not possessing you, then what?”

“Giles said a part of you is sort of stored in me. Like…leftovers in Tupperware.”

“Finally inside you and I’m not even there to enjoy it.”

Xander’s cock, which had been sleeping peacefully against his thigh, twitched with interest. Spike saw and smirked, which didn’t actually help, because Xander found that smirk really goddamn sexy.

“So first I was in the enchanted bit of costume jewelry, and then somehow I was transferred to you?”

“That’s what Giles says.”

“How? Why?”

“Yet another mystery. Willow thinks maybe because we’d already established, uh, a connection.”

Spike sighed. “First everything gets jammed in my cranium, then I’m stuck all sorts of unlikely places. Getting mighty tired of it all, pet.”

“Can’t say as I blame you.”

Spike rolled over onto his back, letting his arms flop off to his sides. “So does the Watcher have plans to relocate me, then?”

Xander leaned over and ran his finger down the center of Spike’s chest, all the way down his flat belly, until he got to the damp nest of curls at his groin. He combed through the hairs with his fingertips, watching as Spike automatically arched a little into the touch. “We figured you could stay put until we find out how to reincarnate you. If that’s okay with you.”

Spike reached up to lazily trace the scar on Xander’s chest. “There are worse places to be. I reckon it’s a strong heart I’m nestled up against, innit?”

“Do you wish you’d ended up with someone else, Spike?”

“Like who? Don’t know of anyone else who’d put up with me like you have. Or go traipsing all the way back to Sunnyhell. Besides, the shagging’s been lovely, yeah? Even without slick. Your demon bint told me once you were a Viking in the sack. Didn’t believe her then. Now I do.”

Xander felt a small flush of pride. Hey, if you had to pick something to excel at, this was a good choice. Besides, Spike had a lot more years of experience than he did, and it was nice to know he was up to snuff. He scooted around until he was on his side, then gently kissed the tip of Spike’s soft cock. Spike rolled slightly onto his side and reciprocated, his lips cool against Xander’s heated skin.

“I like your foreskin,” Xander announced. “The other guys I’ve been with have all been cut.”

“Have there been many of them, pet?” Spike sounded curious, not jealous, as he gently rolled Xander’s balls in his hand.

“No, not really. Well, the year I came out I sort of went a little wild. I was in Austin, and kind of lonely, and, uh, curious.” He kissed Spike’s cock again, and felt the flesh begin to lengthen and fill.

“None of your friends were there?”

“No. After Sunnydale we pretty much scattered. We still keep in touch and all, but it’s not the same. Even now, Will lives close by, but she’s got her job and her wife and kids.”

“No wonder you have time for me,” Spike said.

“I’d have made time anyway.”

Spike indicated his approval by licking Xander’s shaft from root to tip, as if it were a popsicle.

The talking stopped after that, as both kept their mouths busy with other things. Two rounds in one night was a little ambitious, maybe, but stuck in a room alone with Spike, naked, well, it was pretty hard to keep his thoughts pure and his hands from wandering.

He woke up right after he came, and then looked down ruefully at his slightly overtaxed organ. He was washing his sheets a lot more often nowadays, too.

Spike had mentioned once that as soon as Xander disappeared from the room, Spike went right back to hell. It distressed him to no end, knowing that while he was showering and eating Corn Flakes and cursing rush hour traffic, his lover was still suffering. It wasn’t goddamn fair, really, and sometimes he had small tantrums, screaming and kicking at things. He was never going to get his security deposit back for his apartment, not unless he spent a lot of time doing drywall repair first, and his poor old Toyota had a few new dents.

But work kept him busy and he did a little light patrolling—he could still stake right-handed—and every night at least there was Spike, ready to be welcomed back into Xander’s arms.

[Chapter Eight](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/92183.html)


	8. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Man of His Dreams (8/13)**_  
**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 8 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Eight **

He was at Mount Hope on Wednesday. He liked this cemetery. It was a small one, and part of it was really old by California standards. A simple, worn tombstone near the center had an engraving of a winged angel, and read “Ada Frances Nabb, 1858-1883, Bealoved Wife and Mother.” He liked the misspelling. He also found it comforting, for some reason, that his lifespan was already considerably longer than poor Ada’s. He liked to lean against her stone and wait to see if anything ugly showed up. He imagined she’d been kind of a plain girl with sweet eyes and work-roughened hands. He wondered whether any of her descendants still survived, and if they knew about her. Sometimes he’d pick some wildflowers in the field nearby and leave them on her grave, just because.

Tonight it occurred to him that Ada had been a contemporary of Spike’s, and that made him imagine a human William, a child running around England in short pants or whatever they wore back then. The image made him smile. He’d have to remember to ask Spike some questions about that time tonight. Were there things about the Victorian era he missed? Did he ever get homesick for England?

Xander was so lost in these ponderings that he almost didn’t notice the monster that appeared silently in front of him. It wasn’t a vampire, or any of the other creatures that were prone to hanging around in cemeteries. In fact, he wasn’t sure what the hell it was, but it was ugly, with green, pus-oozing warty things all over its skin, and patches of wiry hair sticking up in unlikely places, and a wide mouth with far too many teeth. And it was trying to gut him with its long, nasty claws.

Seventeen years of demon hunting saved Xander’s hide. Almost before he’d consciously registered the thing, he hopped backwards, putting Ada’s headstone between himself and the beast. It growled something unintelligible and Xander reached for the wicked blade he wore in a scabbard around his hips. The demon lurched around the stone and he danced slightly back again, waving the knife in front of him.

The real problem with fighting with a knife was it meant he had to get pretty close to his opponent. That was a particular issue now, when the demon had arms a good foot longer than his, and its hands were tipped by a dozen sharp nails, any one of which looked plenty capable of mayhem. Several years ago, Xander had tried to learn to use a sword in the belief that it would come in handy in situations like this. And it would look pretty cool, too. But several weeks of dogged practice convinced him that he was as likely to chop off his own head as his enemy’s—maybe his big blind spot and lack of binocular vision were to blame—and he’d somewhat reluctantly hung up the long blade.

The demon swiped at Xander again, gouging a deep furrow down his chest. It hurt like hell and Xander howled, but instead of moving back again, as the demon no doubt expected, he leaped closer, until he was nearly pressed up against its stinking hide. It was confused for a moment, which was exactly long enough for Xander to stab it in a spot where he guessed its heart might be. But he wasn’t one to take chances, and gods knew demons tended to have vital organs in odd places, so he immediately yanked the knife free and then plunged the blade in again, a few inches to the right.

The creature didn’t die. Instead, it gave him a set of claw marks on his back to match the one on his front, but it didn’t seem to have much flexibility, and it couldn’t reach him very well. He stabbed it a third and then a fourth time, until he was beginning to wonder if the damn thing had a heart at all, and then it screeched and stumbled away from him before falling in a large, smelly heap.

Xander put his hands on his knees and bent over, trying to catch his breath. The front and back of his torso felt like they were on fire, and he had the feeling he was going to have to bathe in antiseptic to keep the wounds from getting infected. He could manage to patch up the ones in front himself, but he was going to need help with the others.

He wiped the knife on the grass, patted Ada’s tombstone fondly, and started limping his way back to his truck. He was almost there when he decided to call Willow, to see whether he could come over and have her play nurse. He’d had his monthly quota of emergency room visits already.

He put the knife back in the sheath, reminding himself to clean it more thoroughly later, and fumbled his phone out of his pocket. Dialing was kind of a pain with the splint on, but he managed. Willow answered on the second ring. “Hey, Will. Got that handy dandy first aid kit close at hand?”

She sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Garden-variety slasher stuff. Just needs a gallon or so of betadine.”

“All right, then, mister. Get your butt over here and I’ll bandage you up. But I’m getting kinda tired—“

She kept on talking, but he completely missed whatever she said, because his attention was suddenly fixed on something else entirely.

“Fuck!” he whispered.

“Xan? What is it?”

“Oh, fuck, Will!” His throat was suddenly so dry he could barely speak. About ten yards in front of him, directly between him and his truck, where a few seconds ago there had been nothing but night air and a few moths, was the dust devil, the gatekeeper to hell. It whirled and spun silently, forming and then absorbing faces and various appendages, all the time moving inexorably in his direction.

“Xan? Xander??” Willow sounded nearly as panicked as he felt.

“It’s that thing,” he rasped. “The thing from Sunnydale. Araxon. How do I fight it, Willow?” Because if it was still trying to keep Spike in hell, it wasn’t a piece of jewelry it was going to break this time.

“I don’t know!” she cried.

So, remembering that discretion was the better part of valor, Xander ran. He wasn’t sure where he was running to, but it seemed like a better idea than standing and waiting to be destroyed. The pain from his injuries became insignificant as he sprinted across the slightly uneven ground, sometimes hurdling grave markers, sometimes looking back to see the monster following, slowly gaining on him. He must have dropped his phone, because it wasn’t in his hand anymore, but that didn’t particularly matter. What was he going to do? Text the gatekeeper?

A fence blocked the far end of the cemetery, and there was no way he was going to be able to climb it one-handed. He angled off to the side instead, heading for what looked to be a small storage building. Maybe if he could get inside he’d be able to protect himself somehow, or maybe there’d be something in there that might be useful as a weapon. Like a nuclear missile.

As he veered off, so did the dust cloud, and it seemed to realize where he was going and it used the opportunity to decrease his lead even more. Xander had a burst of speed that felt like it was going to be his last—what with the night’s previous battle already under his belt, he wasn’t in top form right now. But it was enough to reach the little building, only to find, of course, that the door was securely locked. He rattled the knob for a moment and then crashed his shoulder into the wood, moaning when the impact jarred his injuries. It didn’t do anything to the door, though. He groaned and ran around to the other side, but there were no other doors, and the single window was too high and too small to do him any good.

Okay, then. Time to make his pointless stand. He put his back to the wall and drew the knife again, even though he was certain it wouldn’t do him any more good than the stake had, back in used-to-be-Sunnydale. “I’m sorry, Spike, I’m so, so sorry,” he mumbled. “You should have inhabited someone stronger, someone smarter. So sorry.”

He raised the knife and waited for the gatekeeper, which was only a couple yards away now. He almost squeezed his eyelid shut, but didn’t. He was going to face his death with a modicum of dignity.

And then there was an enormous _POP_ that hurt his eardrums and brought with it the incongruous scents of sage and burning carpet. “Hold it right there!” came a voice as familiar as his own, and considerably more welcome.

Araxon froze, then wavered slightly between Xander and Willow, as if it couldn’t decide whom to annihilate first. Willow was wearing green flannel pajamas with pink cartoon cats sprinkled all over them, and yellow fuzzy slippers, and her hair was up in a messy ponytail. She looked scary as hell.

“Nirixim placenti fiermos!” she yelled, or at least that’s what it sounded like. And she threw something at the dust devil that made a disgusting sucking noise when it hit, and caused the monster to waver slightly.

“Criemen fillexi corputum salacions!” This time the thing that she threw looked like a glowing grapefruit, and it made a crunching sound, and the devil actually faded a little and started to wobble.

“Trimento figorum quintalo alirose rebexum!!” One more throw—and Willow really should have gone out for the softball team back in high school—and the entire creature exploded in a cloud of dust that made Xander hack and cough.

As he sagged back against the wall, feeling the wood dig reassuringly into his wounded but not dead back, Willow stomped over to him. She put out a hand and rested it on his shoulder. “Xan? Are you okay?”

“What the hell was _that_?” he panted, just before his knees gave out and he collapsed onto his ass.

“Ssh! You’ll wake the girls!” Willow gave him a glare almost as deadly as the banishing spell she’d used on Araxon.

“Sorry!” he stage-whispered, and shot Jaimee an apologetic look.

Willow dabbed more antiseptic on his back, probably a little less gently than she could have. He winced but held his tongue. He waited for her to inspect her bandaging job and then nod in approval before he spoke again. “So you’re saying the son of a bitch can come back?” he repeated, this time quietly.

“There’s no way to destroy it, Xander. I can send it away for a while, that’s all.”

“But it’s gonna keep on coming after us.”

“Us?”

“Me and Spike. ‘Cause if it kills me, he’s stuck permanently in hell, isn’t he? He doesn’t have any more necklaces to haunt.”

“I’m sorry.” She patted his arm. “I might be able to find a way to sort of transfer him somewhere else. Then the guardian will stop—“

“Uh-uhn. No way. I may not be such a safe place for him, but at least then I can try to protect him. Anywhere else and that thing can just come, and….” He looked away and set his jaw.

“You really do care about him, don’t you, honey?” Jaimee said. She was sitting across the kitchen table from him, her chin resting in her hands.

“I think…I think I’m a little bit in love,” he confided, to himself as well as the girls.

Spike’s eyes sparked with cold fury and he shoved Xander hard enough into the wall to jar the wounds on Xander’s back and make him grunt with pain. Spike’s features softened for just a moment, but then he snarled and tapped his fingers hard on Xander’s burn scar.

“Get me out of there, you bloody idiot!”

Xander set his jaw stubbornly. “No.” He hadn’t meant to tell Spike about the day’s encounter with the dust devil at all. Of course he’d had to come clean about the other demon, the one he’d killed, because his body still bore the marks of its attack. So he had, and he’d protested Spike’s demands that he stop endangering himself by patrolling. Spike had become insistent then, and it ticked Xander off—it wasn’t like he hadn’t survived seventeen years of demon fighting just fine. When Spike still wouldn’t let it go, Xander got angry enough that he let it slip that even if he didn’t go hunting monsters, now one of them was hunting him.

Spike had nearly lost it then. He jumped up and, for the first time since inhabiting Xander’s dreams, he vamped out. Oddly, Xander wasn’t alarmed to find himself on the wrong end of a set of fangs, even naked and unarmed. He’d come to trust Spike, somehow, and he understood that this rage was on Xander’s behalf.

Spike punched the wall next to him. It didn’t harm the wall, which was apparently very durable, but Xander heard the bones in Spike’s hand crack and he grabbed the fist before Spike could swing it again. “Willow said you couldn’t be transferred.”

Spike growled. “You’re a bloody crap liar.”

Xander kissed the bruised knuckles until the fist relaxed and then finally opened. He tugged gently but insistently on Spike’s forearm, pulling them both down to the floor with Spike halfway in his lap. For a moment he thought Spike was going to leap back up again, but then the vampire slumped instead, resting his head against Xander’s cheek. He was back in his human face. “Let me go,” he said.

“No.”

“Told you before. ‘M already lost. I won’t…won’t have you ruined over me.” His voice was soft and plaintive now.

Xander stroked his hair, which curled softly. “You’re not lost. You’re in me, Spike. And I won’t give you up.”

Spike sighed, his cool breath brushing against Xander’s neck. “White hat,” he whispered.

“Uh, Xander?”

Xander couldn’t place the voice on the phone, although it was familiar. He stuffed a pillow under his head and lay back on the couch. He’d called in sick for the day, and was unhappily mulling over the likelihood that he was going to have to just quit. He didn’t want to risk the dust devil showing up at work, possibly endangering Michelle, and certainly scaring the crap out of her. “Yes?” he said.

“It’s Angel.”

Xander sat back up again, shocked. “Wha—Angel?!” His brain squirreled through all the reasons why Angel would possibly be calling him, and none of them were good.

“Giles called. He sort of updated me on…the Spike situation.”

“Why?”

“He thought maybe Willow or Wes could find a way to, uh, relocate him to me. Since we’re both vampires and we’re kinda related.”

Xander had always assumed that seeing red was just a saying, but now he literally did see the room bathed in scarlet as his boiling blood rushed to his head and he jumped up from the couch. “No! You can’t fucking have him! You don’t even give a shit about him and—“

“Xander! Xander! Hang on! I’m not trying to steal Spike from you, okay? Jesus.”

Xander took a few calming breaths. He was going to have to have some words with Giles, very soon. “Then what do you want?” he growled.

“I want to help.”

“Why?”

There was a long silence on the other end. “I don’t know. Because I know what Spike’s going through now, and…I guess he doesn’t deserve it. Because even if he does, it’s kinda my fault. A lot of what he did, that was Angelus’s teaching. Because I brought the fucking amulet, and maybe I should’ve insisted that I be the one to wear it.

It was almost an apology of sorts, and it surprised the anger right out of Xander. “If I handed him over, could you keep him safe from that gatekeeper thing?” It hurt just to ask it.

“I doubt it. Wes did a little research. I can’t stop it any better than you can.”

“Then I’m not handing him over,” Xander said with an odd mixture of relief and disappointment.

“Giles said he thought maybe you two, uh….”

“Are fucking like rabbits? You bet.” He could almost see Angel wince.

“Yeah. But you’re really hung up on him, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And Spike? Do you know how he feels about you?”

“He hasn’t said—No. Not exactly.” This conversation was suddenly making him distinctly uncomfortable. “But I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate me.”

Angel sighed. “You know, when Spike gets stuck on someone…. You’ve seen what he’s like. Are you prepared to deal with that, if he gets out of hell?”

“Are you giving me relationship advice, Angel? ‘Cause no offense, but you’re not exactly the first guy I’d go to for that. And anyway, I am very much prepared to deal with it, if I’m lucky enough to have the chance. Not a whole lotta history here of people really giving a shit about me. I have seen what he’s like. I wouldn’t mind being the focus of that.”

Another huge sigh. “Okay. So like I said, Wes dug around a little and he may have a solution.”

Xander’s heart sped up. “A solution?” he echoed.

“Maybe. He thinks he found a spell or something to recorporealize Spike. And he’s pretty sure that if he manages that, Araxon will give up. The gatekeeper’s supposed to keep the damned in hell, not drag them back.”

Xander collapsed back onto the couch. “What do I have to do?”

[Chapter Nine](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/92598.html)


	9. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Man of His Dreams (9/13)** _

**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 9 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Nine **

Over the next week and a half, Xander kept close to Willow, as if she were a short, red-headed bodyguard. Which she essentially was, he realized. During the day he tried to blend into her classes—discovering that staying awake was no less of a challenge now than it was back in high school, but, hey, at least he learned a little about psychology. When she wasn’t teaching, he hung out near her office, eavesdropping as students came in for help or generally to whine, wondering if petty problems like theirs had ever seemed so earthshatteringly important to him.

In the evenings, he stayed at Willow’s and Jaimee’s house, helping to cook dinner and entertain the kids, who were thrilled to pieces to get so much Uncle Xander time. He hadn’t wanted to go to their house—he certainly didn’t want to put Jaimee and the girls in danger—but Willow and Jaimee insisted, threatening to show up at his door with the rugrats if he didn’t comply. With witches as mothers, Anna and Emily already knew better than most kids that there were some strange things in this world, and their mothers were adamant that they could keep the girls safe.

Nighttime was another problem. The witches had initially planned for Xander to sleep on the couch. But he had no idea what his body did while his brain had its pleasant Spikey interludes, and he certainly didn’t want to traumatize the household—or himself, for that matter—if the words and movements of his dream self were echoed in his real body. Even explaining the potential problem made him burn with embarrassment, and Willow, too, although Jaimee only sniggered. He considered offering to abstain, but he was pretty sure that naked Spike was going to be far too much for his pitiful little will power, and besides, Spike needed the physical comfort pretty badly.

In the end, they pulled Willow’s Honda out of the garage and left it in the driveway, then set up an air mattress in its place. With a couple quilts thrown over him, Xander was plenty warm, and he’d slept in many less luxurious accommodations over the years. Hell, the garage was better than his parents’ basement, not the least because no Tony and Jessica were stomping around over his head. Willow worried a little that the garage might be too soundproofed for her to hear if the gatekeeper arrived, but then Jaimee grinned and, from a dusty cardboard box tucked away on a shelf, produced a baby monitor. “We’ll keep our end turned down low,” she said, winking one of her pretty brown eyes at him, “But if you shout, we’ll hear you.”

It ended up being a good thing that Xander was glued to Willow, because Araxon turned up three more times—twice in the evening at their house, and once on Sunday afternoon, when Xander was doing his one-handed best to help Jaimee install some crown molding in the dining room. All three times, Willow was able to banish the thing without any problems, and the kids thought the whole thing was the best adventure ever. Xander had told them a little about Spike, and both girls were anxious to meet a real live—so to speak—vampire someday.

The highlight of Xander’s existence now was the time that he slept, when he and Spike could lie intertwined and kiss and fondle each other, or, often, just talk. Spike was surprised and pleased when Xander asked him about his human life—“Nobody’s ever cared about that before, pet.”—and he told stories so rich and detailed that Xander could picture each event clearly.

“Your father was as big an asshole as mine,” Xander said one night, wiping away from Spike’s cheeks tears brought on by long-ago mistreatment.

“He didn’t beat me. Least, not more than was expected back then. They hadn’t invented child abuse yet.”

“He was still an asshole.” He had been cold and distant at best, belittling and domineering when he bothered to interact with his only son at all.

“Well, he’s only dust now,” Spike said with some satisfaction. He cupped the back of Xander’s neck and drew their foreheads together. “Wish I’d eaten your tosser of a father when I’d had a chance.”

“He’d probably have given you indigestion.”

“Maybe. Would have been worthwhile anyhow. I knew what he was doing to you, back then. The slayerettes might not have noticed, but I did.”

Xander sighed. “Actually, I should be thankful to the bastard. If he hadn’t toughened me up, I never would’ve survived Sunnydale.”

“Well, you’ve grown up quite nicely,” Spike said, smiling.

Xander laughed. “You, too.”

They drove Willow’s Honda to LA. It was more comfortable for the long drive, and it had an mp3 jack so they could listen to their iPods on the way, but the real reason they chose that car remained unspoken—they fervently hoped that they’d need room for a third passenger on the way back.

They didn’t speak much on the way down, at least not about anything important, but Willow kept patting his knee and giving him her supportive face. They were somewhere slightly south of Bakersfield and he was driving, but was aware that she’d been staring at him for miles. Finally, she spit it out. “Xan, if this thing works, but maybe Spike wants to, uh, go off on his own, are you gonna be okay?”

He scowled at the Wal*Mart semi in front of him. “I’m not made of china.”

“I know, sweetie. It’s just…this thing has been pretty intense for you, and it hasn’t been all that long since you lost Kai.” Her tone was concerned rather than patronizing, but it still set his teeth on edge.

“Look, I’ll deal, okay? As long as we can get him out of there—that’s what I really care about.”

“I know. It’s only that I worry about you sometimes.”

“I’m not one of your kids, Will.”

“But I still love you.”

He turned his head briefly to smile at her, before looking back at the road. “Thanks. It means a lot to me, it really does. I love you, too.”

“I know,” she said, a little smugly. “We’re family, Xan.”

It was a good thing Angel had a hotel, Xander thought, because quite a crowd had assembled. He and Willow were there, of course, and Spike, nestled somewhere close to Xander’s heart. Angel was there, and Wesley, and a girl named Fred, who’d immediately greeted Willow like an old friend before the two of them scurried off to a corner to chat. There was a tall guy named Gunn. He was keeping a wary eye on Xander, as if he didn’t quite trust him. There was also a muscular guy named Lindsey, who was, apparently, a reformed former enemy of Angel’s. Judging by the way the big vampire and this guy danced around each other, posturing and snarking, there was a whole world of unresolved sexual tension between them. Xander chuckled to himself and thought about how much Spike would enjoy watching.

But he stopped laughing when the three final members of the circus heard the din of their arrival and came out to meet them. Dawn squealed and launched herself at him so enthusiastically he nearly fell. “Xander!” she shrieked into his ear. “Oh my god! It’s been forever and I’ve, like, been so excited about seeing you and when did you start looking so _hot_?”

Xander just laughed and hugged her again, exchanging amused smiles with Buffy over her sister’s shoulder. After Dawn had clutched Xander for a suitably long time, Buffy stepped closer and dragged her off so that Buffy could take her place. “She’s right,” she murmured. “You do look hot. Mystical unions with Spike agree with you, it seems.”

He felt his face go red. “How did you—Who told you—“

She giggled. “Nobody. I just guessed.”

“H-how?” he sputtered.

“I’m well aware of the irresistibleness of Spike, and you’re not exactly Mr. Resistance, are you?”

“You’re not…. It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not if you’re happy. And Spike can make people…very happy.” Xander blushed again, and then Buffy leaned in a little closer to say, “Besides, better you than Angel.” She cut her eyes over toward Angel, who was staring at both of them nervously, obviously remembering that little tidbit of history Spike had passed on about him, and wondering whether Buffy knew, too. Xander smothered a snicker.

Then Buffy stepped away and Xander was face-to-face with the last of the surprise guests, who smiled at him a little anxiously and stuck out a hand. “Xander,” he said.

Xander paused, sighed a little, and then, ignoring the offered hand completely, stepped in for a hug. “G-Man. It’s good to see you.”

When he pulled away, Giles removed his glasses and started wiping them with a handkerchief. “Likewise,” he muttered, and Xander couldn’t help but smile a little.

Then Xander whirled toward Willow, who was just extricating herself from her own Dawnish embrace. “Did you know about this?” he said accusingly.

She looked back with wide, innocent eyes. “No! Well, I knew Giles might come, but you were kinda mad at him—sorry, Giles—but it’s going to be helpful to have him here, so I thought it’d be best to keep quiet about it. But I didn’t know about Buffy and Dawnie, honest!”

“It was my idea, actually,” Wesley said, stepping forward a little. “Dawn has an extraordinary amount of magical energies, and the more of these energies we can marshal to our aid, the better. As a Slayer, Buffy is an excellent source as well. And Giles’s expertise will be most welcome.”

“It’s fine. I was just kinda taken by surprise. You guys came a long way for this.”

Dawn came over and hooked an arm around his. “You know we’d travel to Mars if we had to, to help you.”

“And Spike? Because we’re sort of a package deal, at least for now.”

He looked around the hotel lobby. A couple of the people he didn’t know—and who, presumably, didn’t know Spike, either—nodded easily. Angel and Giles rolled their eyes, but then they joined Willow and Buffy and Dawn in nodding as well. “And Spike,” Buffy said decisively.

Despite the gravity of the situation, and the uncertainty that anything was going to be accomplished, a warm glow of happiness seeped into Xander’s blood and bones. He hoped maybe Spike could feel an inkling of it, too, could draw some comfort from it as he suffered. These were his friends, and they were going to help.

[Chapter Ten](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/93025.html)


	10. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Man of His Dreams (10/13)** _

**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 10 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Ten **

Spike was back in his corner, hunched in a ball with his arms held protectively over his head. His back was a charred and tattered mess. He was shaking, and when Xander softly called his name and reached out to touch his shoulder, Spike shuddered and whimpered. Xander sank to his knees, dying to draw Spike into his arms but hesitant to distress him even more.

“Spike? Baby? What’s wrong?” He hadn’t used any endearments with Spike before, at least not when they weren’t having sex, but now seemed like as good a time as any to begin. It didn’t matter, though, because Spike only trembled harder and tucked himself more tightly inward.

Xander looked at him helplessly, cursing himself under his breath. What had gone wrong? How could he fix it? When no brilliant solution presented itself, Xander cautiously set his still-splinted hand just below the back of Spike’s neck, just barely touching the cold skin, and leaned in a little closer. “Spike?” he said, as soothingly as he could. “How can I help you? Don’t you know me? It’s Xander.”

As soon as his own name left his lips, Spike made a horrible keening noise, possibly the worst sound Xander had ever heard. Xander gently rested his face against an uninjured section of Spike’s back, but only when Spike’s skin grew wet did he realize he was crying. “Please, please,” he wept. “What happened? What’s wrong? Please let me help.” He was struck with the irrational certainty that if he didn’t solve this crisis, he’d never see Spike again.

It felt like an eternity, but it was probably only a few minutes later he when felt Spike lower his arms and slowly lift his head, and Xander sat up straight, too, until he was looking into a pair of dazed blue eyes. “Not him,” came a voice so raspy and weak he would hardly have recognized it as Spike’s. “Not him. Never him. Gone. Gone. Not real.”

Xander’s heart clenched painfully, and he knew with sick certainty what had happened. “How long, Spike? How long has it been since you saw me?”

Spike took a shaky breath and then another. “He’s gone,” he said, so lost and plaintive. “My Xan’s gone.”

“No, I’m not. It’s really me, Spike, see? I’m right here.” He guided Spike’s left hand to his own face, felt the tremors as fingertips ghosted over his lips and cheeks, as they skated over his good eye and the ugly, empty socket where the other once was. “See? It’s Xander. Your Xander.” His throat felt thick, like he might choke.

Spike shook his head, just a tiny bit, and let his hand drop. “Not real.”

Xander couldn’t stand it anymore. He gathered Spike into his embrace, nuzzling his lips against the shell of one ear, against one scarred brow. Spike was soft and submissive in his arms, still clearly not believing, but not having the will to fight, either. “I’m real, sweetheart. Real as I ever was. I just saw you last night, my last night, anyway, and I didn’t leave you, I’ll never leave you. We’re in LA now, and everyone’s here to help, Willow and Buffy—she knows about us and doesn’t care—and Dawn, all grown up and so beautiful, you have to see her, and Giles came, all the way from England, and Angel’s here, and Wesley, and a few other people, and I think Angel’s kinda got the hots for the ex-evil lawyer guy but of course he won’t admit it, but you should see them together, it’s really funny. And everyone’s here, and they care about me, they care about _you_, Spike, and they’re gonna help, they’re gonna fix everything, you’ll see. Just stop being scared, please, please recognize me, gods, Spike, please.”

By the time he finished his soliloquy he was out of breath, but Spike was staring at him wide-eyed. “Xander?” he asked.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.”

Xander watched as tears filled Spike’s eyes, then overflowed and ran down his cheeks. “It’s you.”

Xander sniffled and nodded.

“Oh, God, it’s you. Nobody but my Xan could babble like that.”

Xander laughed through his tears. “I’m still the Babble King.”

“It’s been…been so long. I thought that thing got you, thought you were dead, thought I’d killed you….” His voice died out as he was overtaken with huge, wracking sobs, and Xander held him tightly, tightly, and wept along with him.

They didn’t make love that night, not really. They didn’t talk much, either, because Spike had a hard time finding words and they both kept blubbering anyway. But they held each other, and Xander lay still while Spike reacquainted his hands with every inch of Xander, as if they’d been apart for centuries. Which, Xander thought grimly, might very well be the case, from Spike’s standpoint.

When he felt the inexorable pull back to the real world, Xander clasped Spike’s shoulders firmly and looked into those beautiful eyes. “I’ll be back, Spike, I promise. And we’ll get you the fuck out of here.”

Spike’s hands spasmed on Xander’s back, as if he wanted to hold tight but was fighting it. He swallowed. “I believe you, love.”

Xander paced restlessly around the hotel lobby, pausing every now and then to glare meaningfully at the cluster of people gathered at one end. Periodically, some of the others tried to distract him. Dawn borrowed somebody’s car and came back with a pink box full of doughnuts, which she waved enticingly in front of his face. Gunn and Lindsey each tried several times to lure him into the hotel’s old dining room, which had been set up as a training room, promising him a good round or two of sparring. He declined both the fighting and the fried food.

Buffy finally planted herself in front of him, her hands on her hips, and glared. “The crazy guy routine isn’t helping anyone, Xander. Come for a walk.” She didn’t allow him to say no, but used her slayer strength to drag him out the door and into a Los Angeles afternoon. The weather was on the chilly side for LA—maybe low 60’s—and the sun shone weakly through a layer of clouds and smog. She tugged him down the block, and it smelled of car exhaust and stale piss, and Jesus Christ he hated this city.

“You’re doing your best, Xan. They’re doing their best, too. You don’t want to hurry them too much and end up with Spike worse off than he is already.”

“But every minute that passes, Buff, that could be another century for him.” Wesley had explained it to him this morning, when Xander had woken everyone up by screaming that Spike needed help immediately. When they’d begun the process yesterday to try to rescue Spike, whatever ran hell noticed, and took steps to deepen its hold on the vampire. Time in hell was plastic, its relation to time on Earth slippery anyway, and the differential had been adjusted. A day on Earth, maybe decades in hell. Today it could be even worse.

“I know,” Buffy said. And then they didn’t talk for a while. When they got to the back of the building they found a gate that led to a courtyard, and they walked around the paths for a while, brushing against tree branches just now budding with spring growth. There was a bench close to the hotel’s back entrance, a heavy concrete thing set with a mosaic of blue and yellow Spanish tile. They sat on it and Buffy leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “I miss California,” she finally said.

“Not thrilled with New Jersey?”

“New Jersey this year. Last year it was Toronto, and before that it was Minneapolis. Why can’t the monsters be someplace warm and sunny? Aren’t there any demons in Florida?”

“Sure there are. I was in Orlando, what? Five or six years ago, remember? Tsadeki demons munching on tourists.”

“Yeah. I forgot about that. Why didn’t you stay?”

He shrugged, jiggling her head a little. “It wasn’t home.”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“So, this Bloke guy you’ve been seeing….”

She poked him hard in the ribs. “It’s Blake.

“Bleak?”

She poked him again, harder. “Blake. Blake Thomas Quady. And he’s a really nice guy.”

“’Nice’, huh?”

She turned and glowered at him. “What? You think I can’t attract a nice guy?”

“I think you can do a lot better than ‘nice’, Buff. You deserve more than that.”

Her frown softened to a wistful expression. “He loves me, I think. I’m pretty sure. He’s good to me, and he puts up with the slayage, and he’s really cute, and the sex isn’t bad, and….”

“And you don’t love him.”

She shook her head. “I’m trying to, I really am.”

“Don’t settle, okay?”

She sighed and snuggled up against him, and they stayed like that a long time. He liked the smell of her shampoo. Mango, maybe. He was just considering going inside in search of one those doughnuts after all when Buffy’s jeans started playing a song: _Don’t dictate, don’t dictate, don’t dictate dictate to me…._ She dug in her pocket and pulled out a tiny phone. She glanced at the screen and smiled. “It’s Dawn,” she said.

“Hey, brat, what’s up?...We’re just out back. Be in in a sec.”

She shoved the phone back into her jeans. “C’mon. They’re ready.”

[Chapter Eleven](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/93430.html)


	11. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Man of His Dreams (11/13)**_  
**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 11 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Eleven **

“Come on. Do I have to?”

She frowned at him. “Weren’t you the one bugging us all day long about wasting time?”

“But, Wills,” he whined.

“Now, mister.”

With a resigned sigh he kicked off his shoes, bent to peel off his socks, and then removed his t-shirt, jeans, and boxers. When Willow pointed he took off his wristwatch and eyepatch too. He left his things in an untidy pile by the reception desk and then walked with as much dignity as he could muster to the circle someone had chalked on the floor. Most of the people around the circle politely averted their eyes, or at least kept their gaze carefully far north, but not Dawn, whose grin was as wicked as anything Spike had ever managed, and not Lindsey, who lifted his eyebrows and nodded approvingly.

“Go ahead and sit,” Willow said.

Xander did, reflecting that there really was no good way to sit on a cold tile floor when you were buck naked and had an audience. He ended up crossing his legs and setting his slightly shaky hands on his knees. Everybody else sat, too, except Wes and Willow. Lindsey was directly across from Xander, leering cheerfully. Xander was very glad it wasn’t Angel, at least.

“The first stage is purification,” Wesley said. Willow had grabbed a big metal bowl from somewhere, and she held it against her hip and chanted while tossing handfuls of something dry and powdery onto Xander’s head and shoulders. It smelled like stinky socks and made him sneeze. Then she put the bowl down on the floor, off to the side, and produced a long stick of incense. She used that nifty little flame trick again to light it, and waved the thick, muddy smoke over and around him. It made him sneeze again. Finally, she pulled some dried leaves out of a pocket and crumbled them into his hair.

“Very good,” Wes said when she was finished. “Now we shall need a vessel, some items to help call Spike here and ground him in this plane of existence. Buffy, Angel, I believe you’ve brought something?”

Xander watched with curiosity as Buffy leaned over and placed something on the floor in front of Xander. It was a lighter, a battered silver Zippo. He cocked an eyebrow at her and she shrugged. He couldn’t believe she’d hung onto the thing all this time.

Angel had to stand and walk around the circle to place his offering beside the lighter. It was a drawing, a faded sketch on yellowed, creased paper. It was of Spike, with his hair long and held back in a ponytail. He was sprawled in an armchair, dressed in an old-fashioned suit, and his lips were held in that familiar smirk. Xander squinted so that he could make out the inscription, which was in fancy, curly script. “William, 1886,” it read. Xander was fairly certain Angel would have blushed if he could have. Instead, he glared fiercely at his shoes.

“Some blood, too, if you please,” said Wes.

Angel vamped out. He tore into his own wrist savagely and then held his arm over the circle, allowing his thick blood to drip and pool beside the other objects. Wes and Giles had explained that because Angel was Spike’s grandsire, his blood would be valuable in the ceremony. Xander watched as the bleeding stopped and the wound closed and scabbed over. Vamp healing would sure be nice, he thought, grimacing at his splinted fingers.

Angel resumed his seat behind Xander. Also from behind him, Wesley spoke again. “Right, then. We’ll begin the trance now. You know what’s expected of you, Xander?”

“Yeah. Got it.”

“Very well. Willow?”

This time Willow had a salve, something greasy and medicinal-scented, which she smeared thickly over the burn scar on Xander’s chest. She rubbed more dollops onto his right palm, and then on his temples. “Heart, hand, head,” she murmured. Then she switched to some language he didn’t recognize, and he immediately felt light-headed and sort of spacey, like when he’d gone a couple days without sleeping, or back in high school when Oz used to bring some pot and they’d get a little toasted before heading to the Bronze.

There was a buzzing sound around him, which at first he thought was a swarm of mosquitoes, but then he realized it was chanting, Willow and Wesley and Giles chanting, and that tiny woman, what was her name? Fred. Yeah, Fred. Funny name for a girl. When did people stop having normal names, like Jane and Mary and William? Oh, yes, William, his William, his Spike. Didn’t Spike just last night call him his Xander? They belonged to each other now, and that was nice. He’d hardly ever belonged to someone before. It made him feel warm, so much that he didn’t really mind when his vision blurred and grayed before going completely black, and when the chanting sounded as if it were coming through deeper and deeper water, and then he was falling, slowly, like a leaf drifting from a tree.

When he blinked, Spike was in front of him, his face charred and blackened so horribly that bone showed through in places. He was hunched around his bent knees, and his eyes were staring forward blankly. Flesh hung from his chest and arms in long, bloodless strips.

Xander’s legs felt rubbery, so he crawled instead, until he was next to the thin, motionless body of his lover. “Spike?” he whispered. “Do you know me?”

He could see Spike try to focus his eyes. “B’lieve ‘n you,” Spike slurred.

Xander choked back a cry and draped an arm around Spike’s shoulders. Spike didn’t even wince at the pressure on his mangled body. “It’s time to go, sweetheart. Time to get you out of here.”

Spike blinked at him. “Go?”

“Yeah, baby. We’re gonna go.”

“Can’t.” Spike’s voice was dull, but then eyes grew suddenly wide and he grabbed Xander’s arm and shoved them both into the corner, with his own slight body between Xander and the rest of the room. He flung his free arm over his face. “No, no, no, no,” he chanted, low and urgent, as if he could go on like that for days.

Xander couldn’t see what was scaring Spike so. Not at first. But then the air across the room seemed to thicken, and the room was suddenly filled with the choking odor of burning shit. Something solid began to form, something with an oily-looking sort of surface and it was just _wrong_, and it made Xander want to vomit but he couldn’t look away.

“Giiiiiivvvve iiiiit baaaaaaack,” a voice hissed in his head, like snakes slithering through his skull. “Ooouuuursssss.”

Xander didn’t know how this thing had made its way into his dream—nobody had warned him of that possibility—but he was suddenly more furious than he had ever been in his life. This thing, this abomination, had hurt his love. He wasn’t afraid. “He’s not fucking yours! He’s MINE!” he screamed, and he tore himself from Spike’s grip and launched himself at the thing.

Touching it made his skin crawl and burn at the same time, and it felt like the nasty thing was sinking into him, sliding beneath his flesh to pick at his muscles and twist at his bones, and it was the single most unpleasant feeling he’d ever had. He didn’t let go, though, but instead he tried to dig his fingernails and the edges of his splint into it. Its body seemed to give beneath his touch like rotten fruit, and the wounds he made in it immediately closed back up. Meanwhile, his pain was intensifying. It felt like he was being flayed. Every nerve in his body sang and thrummed. He was weakening, he could tell, and as far as he could tell he’d had no effect whatsoever on the monster.

And then he heard an enormous roar from behind him, and something else was suddenly there, fighting him. No. Fighting _with_ him, helping him to dig at the creature, to tear away gobbets of its flesh and fling them away. “You will _not_ hurt my Xander!” someone next to him bellowed. _Spike_ next to him bellowed, gamefaced and strong. Spike made another sound, a bloodcurdling howl that had Xander whooping out his own war cry. Together they ripped into the thing, and it didn’t matter that it hurt, because it felt so good, so fucking good to be damaging it, to be battling at Spike’s side.

“Pet, pet, it’s over, it’s over, it’s gone.”

Xander shook his head to clear it, and realized that he was grabbing and hacking at air. Spike caught his arms and held him tightly. “What…what happened to it?” Xander asked.

“Dunno. It’s gone.”

Xander sagged against him. “Gone? Did we kill it?”

“Don’t expect you can really kill that lot, but we’re rid of it for now.”

“We need to go, baby. Now.”

“How?”

Xander gave him a shaky grin. “Bite me.”

“What?!” Spike looked at him in shock.

“Bite me. Wes said you have to, because of your duality, to make sure that we grab your human and demon parts. I guess. I didn’t really understand,” he admitted, a little sheepishly. “Just, you sink in your fangs, and drink my blood, and I say some stuff, and Willow’s supposed to pull us out the other end.”

“And it doesn’t disturb you to be vampire food?”

“Not if the vamp is you.”

Spike blinked again and chewed at his lip for a moment.

“C’mon, Spike. Don’t you want out?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” And his face shifted, brows growing heavy, teeth becoming long and sharp, eyes sparkling from blue to gold. He bent over so that his mouth was almost close enough to Xander’s neck to touch. “You’re certain?” he asked.

Xander leaned his head to the side and, with his right hand, urged Spike’s face closer to him. “Positive.”

Spike bit. It hurt. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, though, not nearly as bad. He experienced much worse on an average night on patrol. And when Spike began actually drawing on the wounds he’d made, his soft lips forming suction against Xander’s skin, a hot, shivery tingle flowed from Xander’s neck straight to his groin, and he thrust his hips upward. Spike was straddling him now, so he could feel Spike’s cock grow hard against his belly. The pain was just an insignificant buzz, and the rest felt so goddamn good that he could have happily stayed right where he was, allowing himself to be drained, and he very nearly forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

But when Spike moaned and thrust his hips forward so that the dampened head of his cock skated slickly against Xander’s own cock and his ass flexed atop Xander’s thighs, a tiny warning sounded in Xander’s brain. If he didn’t act now, this would be the end of their times together.

Xander’s voice was hoarse and a little weak as he spoke the words that Willow and Fred had carefully coached him on earlier in the day: “We call on you, Maya, Kali, Swapneshwari, Morpheus, Orneiroi, Hypnos, Thanatos, Mercury. Lift us from these dreams of death. Restore us, gods and goddesses. Make us whole.” He hoped that the current lack of bloodflow in his brain didn’t make him leave any deities out—the last thing he needed was pissed off divinities.

As Spike continued to suck lazily at his vein and rock against him, Xander felt the odd pulling sensation that had lately become so familiar. He tightened his grip around Spike’s middle, resolved to go nowhere without his vampire. The tugging intensified and Spike made a strange sound, Xander wasn’t sure whether of pleasure or pain, and he couldn’t ask because suddenly his lungs couldn’t find any oxygen, and his vision was going black again, and his body felt like it was being taken apart like a puzzle.

For an unmeasureable time, he knew nothing.

And then his eye fluttered open, and he became aware of several things at once. He was back in the lobby of Angel’s hotel, and the tile floor was hard under his butt. All his friends, as well as a few people he’d only lately met, sat around him, every mouth hanging open in shock. He was buck naked, still achingly erect, tiny trickles of blood tickling at his neck and collarbone. And Spike was still captured in his arms, cold and unmoving.

Lindsey was still directly across from Xander, so his pale blue eyes were the ones Xander caught. “I think…I’m going to pass out,” he said.

And then he did.

[Chapter Twelve](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/93548.html)


	12. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Man of His Dreams (12/13)**_  
**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 12 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Twelve **

Lavender. And the same fabric softener his mother used to use. Those were his first thoughts as he blinked his way back to consciousness. Then a soft hand brushed against his bare shoulder. “Xan? Are you awake?” Willow’s voice was tight with worry.

“Fine.” His throat felt like someone had taken a belt sander to it. He blinked again and Willow’s pale face came into focus, framed by her straight red hair. Angel was hovering over her shoulder, frowning uncertainly at him.

Then Xander shot upright, even though it made his head swim and he had to put steadying hands on the mattress. “Spike?”

Willow’s face softened into a smile, and she gestured with her chin. Xander twisted around, and there was a still form in the other bed, blankets pulled up to his chest, tender eyelids closed and his beautiful face still charred and cracked. Xander lunged in Spike’s direction and probably would have fallen if Willow hadn’t caught at his shoulders. “Hang on! You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“He took a lot of your blood,” Angel said grimly.

“Is he…is he….”

“He’ll be okay, Xan. He looks less…damaged already.”

Xander took a few deep breaths. He felt sore all over, as if he’d competed in a triathlon the day before, and maybe still a little lightheaded, but otherwise okay. “Can I, uh, have some pants? I want to get out of bed.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’ve been out for quite a while, and—“

“You shouldn’t have let him drink so much!” Angel interrupted angrily.

Xander shook his head. “No, I don’t think he had that much. It was…there was a fight. In my dream.”

“He fought you?” Angel’s hands curled into fists.

“No! This…thing…showed up. I don’t know what it was. It was really fucking awful. It tried to take Spike, but we—Spike and I both—we fought it and it went away.”

“Something intruded into your trance?” Willow looked appalled.

But it was Angel who asked, “What did it look like?”

“I’m…not sure. Oily. Horrible. Sort of, I don’t know, deformed. It hurt just to touch it, and it had this snaky voice….” He shuddered at the memory, and then saw that Angel had pressed his lips into a bloodless line and clenched his eyelids tightly closed. “Sound familiar?”

“Yeah,” Angel said without making eye contact.

“So…pants? Or else you two are going to get a repeat performance of the Naked Xander Show.”

Willow shook her head, but then she walked to the dresser and opened a drawer and returned with Xander’s blue plaid lounging pants in her hands. He took them from her with a thankful smile and, a little awkwardly, pulled them on before throwing off the covers and scooting around so his feet were facing toward Spike’s bed. He stood carefully, and was pleased to discover he was almost steady. His legs held long enough for him to take the two steps to the other bed, anyway, and then he sat gingerly on its edge, not wanting to disturb Spike too much.

He took a few minutes to gaze in wonder. Here was Spike, real and in the flesh, corporeal and once again on this plane of existence. Safe.

Slowly, Xander lifted a hand and then moved it towards Spike. He almost expected the vampire to disappear like a mirage, but when Xander’s palm met Spike’s hair, it was soft and as real as Xander’s own. Xander bent over and brushed his lips against Spike’s brow in a gentle kiss. He was alarmed when blackened skin flaked away at the contact, but underneath he saw new skin, ivory-pale and soft as velvet. “Spike,” he whispered. “Sweetheart. We did it. You’re free.”

Spike didn’t answer, didn’t even open those eyes, but Xander thought maybe his face settled in more peaceful lines.

Everyone else had stopped by the room at least briefly, even Angel’s crew, to check in on Xander and Spike. Some stayed longer—Willow and Buffy and Dawn, and eventually Giles—chatting quietly and playing cards with Xander. They brought food for Xander and bags of human blood for Spike. Xander refused to leave the room and left Spike’s side only for short forays to use the toilet or take a hurried shower. He bathed Spike several times a day with warm, damp washcloths, watching with satisfied wonder as the burns disappeared and the wounds knitted together until the skin was again flawless. Spike didn’t regain consciousness, but Xander could spoon blood between his lips and gently massage his throat and he’d swallow. It might take an hour or more to get a pint into him, but Xander didn’t care. He was happy to be doing it.

Whatever dreams he may have had were forgotten by the mornings.

Almost a week after they’d arrived, people began to leave. Buffy and Dawn were first; the Hellmouth in Newark needed urgent attention. There was much hugging and smooching and crying before they left. Before Giles flew back to London, he and Xander hugged too, and then Giles polished his glasses and Xander smiled, and Giles made Xander promise to visit him in England soon. Then it was Willow’s turn—she had to get back to work and Jaimee and the girls missed her—so there was more general hugginess and she drove back to Sacramento by herself.

Another week later, and Xander’s fingers were healed enough to remove the damned splints, and his burn scar was just shiny white skin. Spike’s body appeared whole and unblemished. But he still didn’t wake up.

“You can stay as long as you want,” Angel said one evening. They were all gathered in Xander’s room, drinking beer and swapping stories. “Plenty of room here, you know.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m being such a pain—“

“You’re not, honey,” said Fred. “You’re not any trouble at all, really.”

“Yeah, man. You’re cool.” Gunn’s arm was slung around Fred’s shoulders. Sometimes Xander caught Wesley eyeing the couple sadly, but then the former Watcher would square his shoulders and soldier on. Fred and Gunn didn’t seem to notice. Xander wondered how long Wesley had carried a torch for her.

He’d also noticed that both Lindsey and Angel watched him care for Spike with no small degree of envy etched into their faces. Then they’d glance at one another, and catch each other at it, and look away quickly. Xander wasn’t the only one who rolled his eyes at their combined idiocy.

“Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.” He really did.

“You know, if you want to stick around more permanently.… I hear you’re a good hand at fighting demons. We could always use more help. Or you could just play handyman, if you wanted. This old heap needs work.” Everybody nodded agreement with Angel’s words.

He felt a little overwhelmed. “Wow…thanks. That’s really nice of you. I’ll think about it, okay?” And he would. It was an interesting idea.

They all drank a little longer, and Lindsey told a story about Angel getting nabbed and forced to participate in some kind of deathmatches, and that made Angel scowl and tell a story about chopping Lindsey’s hand off, and then both of them glowered so much that Gunn muttered under his breath, “Get a room.” Only Xander and Fred were close enough to hear him, and they both bit at their lips to stifle laughter.

It was very late when people started standing and stretching and taking their leave. At last only Wesley was left, and he patted Xander a little awkwardly on the shoulder as he saw Xander looking sadly over at Spike. “You’re taking very good care of him.”

“What if he never wakes up? What if we just ended up with his body, and his…I don’t know, his soul, his consciousness, whatever…is still in hell?”

“Didn’t it take Angel some time to come back to himself after he returned from hell?”

Xander nodded. “But not this long.”

“Xander, Spike’s suffered for a much longer time, and the physical transition must be difficult at best. His body has recovered, but be patient for his mind to convalesce as well. I assure you all of him is present in this room. I also suspect some part of him is aware that you are here—have you noticed how he relaxes a bit when you touch him?”

“Maybe.” Xander had noticed, actually, but he’d chalked it up to wishful thinking.

“So you see?” Wesley clapped him on the back. “Just give him some time.”

Xander was alone with Spike the next evening. Angel got a call about some nasty beasts running an extortion ring in K-Town, and he and his gang headed out, clearly happy at the prospect of busting some heads. Xander sat next to Spike, his back propped against the headboard. He was absently stroking Spike’s arm, which was in his lap, while he watched a science fiction show on BBC America. “That Captain John guy is a lot like you, you know.” He’d taken to talking to Spike, just in case he could hear. Xander tilted his head a little and squinted at the crummy tv set. “He even looks kind of like you.”

“Don’t see the resemblance, myself.”

Xander squawked and scrambled off the bed. He stood there, panting, looking down at Spike. A pair of clear blue eyes gazed back, sparkling with amusement. “Spike!”

“Who’d you think you dragged back, pet?”

“You. But you were—And now you’re—Are you all right?”

Spike’s mouth stretched into a grin that made Xander’s heart sing. “You’re still eloquent as ever, love. ‘M fine. Been listening to you for some time, you know. Couldn’t quite respond.”

“But now, you’re—“

“All mended, pet.” Spike sat up, and the blanket fell away from his torso. He was too thin and appeared a little weak, but he held himself steady as he swept the covers away entirely and then gestured down at his bare self. His cock was half erect. “See? Sexy as ever, yeah? Your hand was nice, and with all that lovely human blood in me, well….”

“You want to fuck?!” Xander asked incredulously. Two minutes ago Spike was comatose and now he was horny?

Spike chuckled. “Well, perhaps not for a day or so. But I’ve been lying there, thinking about how, now that we’re back in the world, surely we can get our hands on a bottle of slick.”

Xander was too overwhelmed to do anything but whoop with laughter. He collapsed onto the bed and drew Spike into his arms, pulling him down next to himself to nuzzle and kiss and just feel the reality of each other’s presence.

[Chapter Thirteen](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/93788.html)


	13. Man of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[man of his dreams](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/man%20of%20his%20dreams), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Man of His Dreams (13/13)** _

**Title: **Man of His Dreams   
**Chapter:** 13 of 13   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** angst and slash and more suffering Spike   
**Summary:** Some years post-series, and ignoring the comics and season 5 of AtS. Xander's trying to deal with a loss and trying to lead a fairly normal life, with a little demon-hunting on the side. But then he starts dreaming of Spike, who was last seen burning beneath Sunnydale High.   
**Author's Note:** This fic is complete and is my November entry for [](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/profile)[**fall_for_sx**](http://community.livejournal.com/fall_for_sx/). I'll be posting three chapters a day for 3 days, scattered throughout the day as time permits, and then four chapters on the fourth day. Feedback is always cherished. Big thank you to [](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/profile)[**lil_coyote**](http://lil-coyote.livejournal.com/)for the dreamy banner!

[Previous chapters here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Man+of+His+Dreams&filter=all)

**The final chapter. Whew! Thank you for reading!**

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0007cyfg/)  
---  
  
**Chapter Thirteen**

**   
**

“You have everything ready, pet?”

“All set. We just need our victims.”

“They’ll be along shortly.” Spike palmed Xander’s ass. “Could nip upstairs, you know, and—“

“Spike. Human here, remember? Twice in three hours is my limit. Give a guy a little time to recover, okay?”

“You’re certain?” Spike draped himself onto the front of Xander’s body and sucked lightly at the tiny scabs on his neck.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Xander groaned, feeling his poor, overworked penis rising to the occasion once again.

Even Spike’s chuckle was sexy. “’M an evil demon, remember?”

“Ugh,” was about all Xander could say in reply, as Spike’s erection ground against his, the double layers of denim in no way diminishing the deliciousness of the friction. Xander was chiding himself for even trying to avoid the inevitably of giving in to Spike—couldn’t even remember why’d he’d want to—when he heard voices approaching from the stairway.

“Fuck!” he mumbled, and pushed Spike away.

“Not now, apparently,” Spike groused.

“So what were Xander and Spike doing in the basement anyway?” Angel asked, as several sets of footsteps descended.

“What do you think?” Gunn replied.

Angel growled a little. “You’d think there’d be one place in this building that was safe.”

“Ah, you’re just jealous ‘cause you never get any. Did you know the other day I caught them at it in the training room?” That was Lindsey. Good.

The three men came into view, and then walked over to where Xander and Spike were standing. “Well, what is it?” Angel demanded.

“We were down here, uh, exploring, and we saw something over there.” Xander gestured toward the cell that was against one side of the basement. And why the hell did Angel have a cell in his basement anyway?

“You saw what?”

“Some kind of demon, I think. It was tall and skinny and sort of lizardy—“

“Smelled of rotten eggs,” Spike interjected.

“Yeah, rotten eggs. And it was kind of wavering in and out, like a tv with bad reception, and it was talking.”

Angel sighed. “What was it saying?”

“I couldn’t make it out,” said Xander.

“But I could,” said Spike. “Was hard to hear, though. Staticky. But I think it was something about Wolf-Something and Art.”

Angel and Lindsey exchanged a concerned look. “Wolfram and Hart?” said Lindsey.

Spike shrugged. “Maybe.”

They all moved closer to the cage, which was empty except for two large wooden boxes, padlocked shut. “What are those?” asked Angel, pointing.

“How would we know, Peaches? Your cellar, innit?”

Angel rolled his eyes and pushed past them, into the cell. Lindsey was hard on his heels. As soon as they were both inside, Spike slammed the door shut and, while they whipped around and gaped in shock, Xander pulled a very heavy padlock out of his pocket, slipped it into the opening on the latch, and locked the cell closed. Then Spike and Xander and Gunn all stepped back a few paces and waited.

Angel lost it first. He stomped forward and slammed fists into the bars of the door. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he roared.

“Sorting you two before you drive us all mental, pillock,” said Spike calmly.

Angel shook at the door and snarled.

“Rattle all you want, Peaches. It’s vamp-proof. Tried it out myself.”

Now Lindsey came to the front of the cell, too, and looked out at them, batting his eyes a little. “Very funny, guys. Now let us out.”

Gunn folded his arms across his chest. “We’re not letting you two out ‘til you’ve either fucked each other or killed each other.”

Angel and Lindsey looked at one another, then quickly away. “What the fuck—“ began Angel.

“You two been in denial so long it’s a permanent condition. It ain’t healthy, man. And your boy there ain’t getting any younger.” He pointed at Lindsey, who huffed indignantly.

“He’s _not_ my _boy_,” said Angel, and his voice would have been scary if he weren’t locked in a cage.

“Sure he is. Just neither of you will get your stubborn heads out of your asses long enough to admit it. So now’s your chance.”

Spike draped an arm around Xander’s shoulders. “Explain the rules, love.”

Xander smiled. “Like Gunn said, you don’t get out until you get yourselves straightened out. So to speak.” Spike sniggered. “We’ll need proof, too. Either blood and bruises, or, well….”

“Blood and bruises,” Spike finished for him.

“Um, Spike said he can tell by the smell if you guys have, um, consummated things. Which is pretty gross, really, but whatever. That’s demons, I guess. The bigger box has a camp toilet in it. ‘Cause one of you might miss plumbing after a while. You should be able to break those locks really easily, by the way. They’re not like the one on the door.”

Angel and Lindsey glared at all of them.

“Fred has volunteered to bring you food and blood, ‘cause we pretty much figure you’ll be nicer to her than to us. And this wasn’t her idea, by the way. Now, the smaller box, well, you can discover its contents yourself. Spike and I took a field trip to The Pleasure Chest the other day.”

“Bought some things for us, too. You don’t mind that I nicked your MasterCard, do you, Peaches?” When Angel growled again, Spike only smirked.

Xander added, “There’s some blankets and things in that box, too. The floor down here is really cold. Oh, and if you need some inspiration, just let Fred know. We can set up a tv and DVD player for you, too.”

“You boys have fun!” Gunn laughed, and the three of them ignored the various sounds of rage and indignation coming from the cell. They trooped up the steps and shut the basement door behind them.

“It’s been three days, Spike. Do you think—“

“Nah.” Spike squeezed Xander’s ass very nicely. “Fred said neither one’s dead—well, deader than usual, anyhow—and they’ve mostly stopped throwing things. So those are good signs.”

Xander squeezed back. Man, he really liked Spike’s ass. It was about as perfect as an ass could be. “Do you really think they’ll finally give in?”

“Two more days. The old bastard’s stubborn, but that lawyer’s a tasty enough dish, and—oi!”

Xander had slapped that perfect ass, which was way more fun than he expected. “Keep your eyes off the lawyer, Spike.”

“Yeah? Or what?” Spike scooted even closer, which Xander wouldn’t have thought possible, and wiggled a little.

“Or…this,” Xander replied, slapping again.

“Not exactly a threat there, pet.” Spike pushed his rump back slightly, into Xander’s palm.

“Oh. It’s like that, is it?”

Spike nipped lightly at his neck. “Vampire, yeah?” Then he suddenly pulled away and looked at Xander with concern. “I don’t have to, though. I mean, I can manage vanilla just fine if you don’t want….”

“Oh, I want, all right.” Xander slapped him a third time and Spike smiled brightly before snuggling back up to him.

“You’re lovely,” he murmured. “A white hat, but not _too_ good.”

They didn’t speak at all for a while after that. At least, nothing coherent. Finally they both lay on their backs, panting and sweaty, pleasantly sore and tired out.

“Spike?” Xander finally said.

“Hmmm?”

“This is gonna work out, isn’t it?”

“What, the pouf and the lawyer? Yeah, I reckon—“

“No. I mean us. You and me.”

“We’ll have some bumps in the road, I expect. You’re going to want to keep on being a bloody hero, and we’re going to have to sort things about your mortality, eventually. But yeah, pet. We’re going to work out.”

Xander yawned, sleepy but satisfied in all the important ways. “Good. You don’t think you’ll get tired of me?”

Spike rolled onto his side and traced Xander’s mouth with one finger. “Never, love. Not in your wildest dreams.”

_\---fin---_


End file.
